


Texas Chainsaw Massacre: Family

by AnonGrimm



Category: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: "Foul" Language, Abuse, Cannibalism, Consensual Underage Sex, Corpse Desecration, Dismemberment, F/M, Graphic Sex, Hewitt, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Sexual Abuse, Leatherface - Freeform, Mental Instability, Minor Derogatory Language about Retardation, Misogyny, Mutilation, Necrophilia, Period-Typical Sexism, Rape, Self-Harm, Sexist Language, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning, Underage Sex (16 then 17)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-09 01:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 84,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4328016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonGrimm/pseuds/AnonGrimm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An abused girl named Amarie runs into the Hewitt’s tiny town in 1970, trying to escape the biker gang that kidnapped her six months before. Desperate to be free, she is prepared to fight – unknowing that there are more dangerous people than her captors in this dead and dusty Texas town. In a moment of blind luck, Amarie manages to impress Luda Mae Hewitt, who wants her to join the family, if only she can convince the others not to kill and eat her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Hunters

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR: AnonGrimm = AnonGrimm@msn.com (@MET_Fic)
> 
> NOTICE: No part of this story is to be posted anywhere without the author’s permission. Thanks. Feedback and constructive critiques are welcome, too. Just email or tweet me.
> 
> CATEGORY: Horror / Hetero Erotica
> 
> PAIRING: Leatherface / OFC
> 
> RATING: NC-17 for “foul” language, graphic sex, rape, mutilation, torture, abuse, cannibalism, necrophilia, and extreme violence.
> 
> WARNING: Character Death (lots of people die). Also, this is one of the more brutal and disturbing series of movies in cinematic history, so if you aren’t a fan of depraved fiction, you might want to read this story with caution. Eventually, it became a challenge to see how gross I could get. One thing is certain: once you throw necrophilia into the mix, no one is offended by the cussing anymore. I used to think I was the only one in the world who developed crushes on cinematic monsters, but then I discovered that there are a lot of us. This tale is for those folks, the ones who will eagerly hope that Leatherface gets the girl in a whole new way.
> 
> TIMELINE: This tale takes place after TCM: The Beginning and before both TCM (the remake) and TCM #3.
> 
> NOTES: If you haven’t seen any of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre movies, you may be a little lost here, but I’ll try to keep it enjoyable for non-Leatherface fans too. To be honest, having seen all of the movies, confusion is still possible; it has become obvious to me that the concept of canon is elusive in this series. Beyond purporting a few new theories, I will attempt to remain faithful to the remake films wherever possible and I plan to borrow an element or two from movie #3. Other elements will be used or ignored as suits the story, and/or referenced for the sake of plot, but Leatherface is generally portrayed as the hulking and mute chainsaw-wielding member of a psychotic and cannibalistic family living in Texas in the 1960s and 1970s. My Leatherface in this story is Thomas Brown Hewitt, portrayed by actor Andrew Bryniarski. The family has a habit of indiscriminately killing and eating people in order to survive in an abandoned town and they care only for those considered to be in the family, whether by blood or friendship. Anyone else is on the menu. 
> 
> HISTORY: Leatherface is a childlike person, in spite of his violent habits. His mental capacity is up for debate but he seems capable of love, loyalty, and obedience, at least to family members. For the matter of why he wears other people’s faces, I’m using the remake notion that he was born with a skin disease that has eaten away his nose. He has never been portrayed speaking words, but will nod or shake his head to answer others. The only sounds he’s made on film were screaming, roaring, grunting, etc., but since it is clear that he understands others, I assume he chooses not to speak, or can’t for some other medical reason. I have a character loosely guessing that Leatherface may suffer from borderline personality disorder, as that fits my story. No real diagnosis is obtained, so this is mere conjecture. Luda Mae found Thomas in the dumpster of the slaughterhouse on August 7, 1939 and raised him as her son. Her brother Charlie killed and became Sheriff Hoyt to save his nephew’s life. It was never that clear who Old Monty was, so I’m calling him the uncle of Luda Mae and Charlie Hewitt. Many fans seem to think Charlie Hewitt is Luda Mae’s son, but I never thought so. Their ages are two similar. In the South, a woman can be called “Momma” as an affectionate nickname for a person, especially if she is the mother hen of a family. Therefore, I’m calling Charlie the brother of Luda Mae. Sheriff Hoyt a.k.a. Charlie is portrayed by R. Lee Ermey in the remake films, and in my opinion, he is so dangerous and frightening that he makes Leatherface seem like a sympathetic character in comparison.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: None of this is real, it didn’t happen. The characters, locations, situations, terminology and history involved here, I am borrowing from Tobe Hooper, Kim Henkel, and the creators of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre movies, with the exception of a handful of original characters. No money has or will be made with this, unless one of these esteemed persons wants to pay me to make it a screenplay.
> 
> FEEDBACK: Please post a comment/review if you enjoy the story, I love to hear from you. Also, if you have any questions or suggestions in your comment, I will respond as soon as I can either here, by email, or via Twitter at @MET_Fic. Eventually, my stories will all be posted on my blog (www.mindseyetheatre.net). Thanks for reading!

"Man is not merely the sum of his masks. Behind the shifting face of personality is a hard nugget of self, a genetic gift."

\- Camille Paglia

******************************************************

Dr. Ambrel looked out the window of the diner, staring at the junction of highways 290 and 71. To the southeast, his new home waited, deep in the bustle of the capital city of Austin, star of Travis County. While before him, up the heat-hazed northwestern stretch of 71, was a year-old mystery he’d tried to leave behind.

In his old home, the dusty dead-end town of Fuller, Texas, a man had gone missing. The manager of a meat packing business closed down for health code violations, he was supposed to lock up the filthy structure and leave town with the rest of the population. However, he hadn’t shown up on his sister’s doorstep as planned, and the uprooted family had never heard another word from him.

The schooled and refined doctor hadn’t been fond of his rough and uncompassionate uncle, but family was family – and his mother had made him promise to find out what had happened. Busy with his psychiatric practice and growing family, he hadn’t done much to fulfill that promise. Now that his mother was sick and soon to die of cancer, the mystery, and the obligation, beckoned.

Still, on the cusp of finding answers, he hesitated. Dr. Ambrel was only the second person in his family to break out of the blue-collar world. He had often lived with his rich spinster aunt in the city and his reluctance to return to Fuller had led him here, to meet a man who didn’t mind going back.

Deputy Sheriff David Hadley pulled into the parking lot in front of the doctor’s window, the squad car blocking his view. Spotting him as he came through the door, the younger man smiled and headed for his table.

Dr. Ambrel rose to shake his hand when Hadley joined him, and then both men sat and began an earnest conversation – one that made their waitress come by less often to refill their coffee.

~ ~ ~

“So what is this new information you found, David?”

“Well, I told you ‘bout that missin’ girl, Amarie Trambler, kidnapped six months ago from her foster family in Del Valle? Parents said it coulda been some sleazeball biker types who’d been makin’ trouble in the area. Funny, that – me and mine would call them sleaze.”

“Not every parent is among the best examples of humanity, unfortunately.”

“Thing is, I saw a couple o’ these biker boys near our old neck o’ the woods. I stopped one o’ ‘em on my last trip up there, but he gave me the slip and disappeared. I did stop by your uncle’s old place, that Lee Brothers Meat Company, but it was boarded up and locked. I might need a warrant to get in there legally, to say nothin’ o’ a life insurance policy to do it safely.”

“Having survived your tour of Vietnam, I have all the faith in the world in your ability to persevere. The land was to be sold, of course, but there are no records that it was. I believe a man named Blair was interested, however.”

“Yeah, but could he afford it now? Anyway, I coulda sworn I saw a girl that looked like Trambler headin’ for the gas station when I drove by, but whoever it was, she ran when she heard my car. Didn’t see anyone workin’ at the station, but it was probly abandoned with the rest. I did see old Mrs. Hewitt pokin’ ‘round in the store, though. Now if you remember local tales, hers was an odd family even by Fuller standards. If your uncle went missin’ before closin’ up shop, or right after, the Hewitts may know somethin’; after all, one o’ ‘em was workin’ there when it was closed. I’d bet they could say somethin’ ‘bout Trambler, too.”

Nodding, Ambrel tried to hide his distaste. “Excellent. Let’s go ask them.”

“Boy, Doc, you sure been outta town a while!” Answering the questioning look on the psychiatrist’s face, he added, “If I look into things up their way a little more thoroughly, I might could find your uncle and Miss Trambler. Here’s the thing, though – those people are potentially dangerous. I’m not goin’ to just walk up and ring the bell. Folks have whispered ‘bout ‘em all my life, and now they’ve been livin’ in that town for a year after every other soul and way to make a livin’ headed out for greener pastures. My money says they’d have only gotten weirder alone.”

“Surely you’re painting things a bit dark?”

“All due respect, Doc, but you kept bouncin’ between your parents and your aunt all your life – I clocked a lot more time back home than you. If you’d lived ‘round those people like I did, you’d be ready to take every precaution you could, and I intend to.”

“What about tracking down the local sheriff there?”

“Winston Hoyt?” Hadley looked thoughtful and sipped his coffee. “Never found him, but that biker I spoke to told me he’d seen him drivin’ ‘round. He identified the patrol car as a 1965 Plymouth Belvedere, just like mine. Most likely, old Hoyt gave up his badge without botherin’ to tell anyone. He was tired o’ the job, always jokin’ ‘bout leavin’ his car on the side o’ the road and hitchin’ to Vegas. Rumor said he might move to Michigan, too, he had family up there. Hell, whichever way he went, if some yokel’s got his car … all the more reason to step careful, if you ask me – backwoods freaks like the Hewitts need law. Without it, God only knows what sorta tomfoolery they mighta got up to by now.”


	2. The Face of Madness

**Dr. Ambrel:** Often, you can’t tell – the face of madness is secretive, blank. Some of the most disturbed subjects can appear entirely sane. Then again, sometimes psychosis can be worn on a person’s sleeve.

 **Deputy Hadley:** You talkin’ ‘bout Thomas Hewitt, Doc? Craziest motherfucker I ever saw, I know that.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** I wouldn’t want to make an assessment like that without seeing the younger Hewitt for myself, but if your local tales are to be believed, possibly, yes. However, I was referring to the fact that your quarry might not be the same young woman she once was, even if she appears to be. Six months of ill-treatment can create an immense change.

**************************************************

Sweat burning her eyes, Amarie stumbled into an exhausted jog when she spotted the gas station and store in the distance, but she didn’t call out, or head for the front doors. If anyone still lived in this dead town, they wouldn’t be able to help her and if they tried, they might die.

_Like the others..._

She ran around the side of the building and started to search for anything that could be used as a weapon.

_They’ll hunt the store for me first. Is anyone in there?_

She came to a window and started to peer in, but gasped when a face scowled back at her through the ancient, dirty glass, less than five inches from her nose.

“What you want, girl?” It was an old woman, stout and gray-haired.

Amarie didn’t answer. Her eyes darted around wildly before settling on a long, narrow object to her left, leaning against the building.

_Is it metal?_

When she looked up again, the woman’s face was gone. Listening closely, she could hear her inside yelling at someone, her words commanding. Then a sharp smacking noise was followed by silence.

_She was talkin’ on a phone. Callin’ the police on me? Maybe they’d last longer than farmers – long ‘nuff for me to get away._

Moving hurriedly to the object, she grinned fiercely as she picked it up. The crowbar was rusty, but it would work just fine.

She carried it with her across the low bump of a hill and lay down in the dry ditch beyond it. Nestling into the long grass, she watched the sliver of road she could see between the store and its outbuildings and waited.

 _Where am I? Still in Texas… The sign over the store said, ‘Cele Community Center: General Merchandise’, but it looks pretty run down. Still, the woman called someone._ “C’mon, you bastards,” she whispered toward the road. “It’s your turn to shit yourselves.”

Amarie was soon rewarded with the rumbling sound of a pair of motorcycles. They cruised up and stopped out of sight in front of the store. Moments later, she heard them enter the building.

**************************************************

Luda Mae Hewitt turned, expecting the heavy steps to be the arrival of her son, Thomas. Her eyes widened as the metal nose of a heavy .45 caliber weapon was tapped against a lens of her glasses.

“Hold it real still, Granny,” a tall man said, his voice a hiss of menace. “We’re lookin’ for a little girl lost – if you got her and give her up, we won’t hurt you.”

“If you don’t,” his shorter companion added, “we won’t hurt you – we’ll just kill you.”

 _Tommy’ll be here,_ she thought, and visibly relaxed. “I saw a girl skulkin’ ‘round my back door not a minute ago. If she’s yours, you’d best catch her quick. I don’t want her ‘round here, stealin’ or makin’ trouble.”

“Yeah, cuz you got so much to steal, right?” the tall man said with a snicker. “You ain’t even worth havin’ a go with.”

The other man walked quickly past them, heading toward the back. “Watch her, Jim. I’ll check out her story.”

Jim sniffed. “Hurry up, Rock. This bitch reeks.”

Rock disappeared behind them, and Luda Mae stared stonily at Jim. “If she’s run off, she might could head down the road – best be quick if she does. Somebody would pick up a pretty little blonde like that in a minute.”

Jim fidgeted, worried about her suggestion. He didn’t look like the thinking type, but he obviously thought the girl could hitch a ride easily. What he didn’t know, was how seldom anyone came this way these days.

Glass broke behind them, followed by a gentle tinkling sound and a solid thud. _Too quiet for Tommy – did the fool get his girl?_

“Shit – okay, move it, Granny – you first. Let’s go see what’s up.”

As they came through the back door, Luda Mae saw a distorted shadow in the remaining windowpanes. Falling sharply to her knees in her flower-print dress, she managed to duck the blow that struck Jim, laying him out flat on his back beside his friend. The handgun went flying, but didn’t fire, striking the gravel to the left of the door.

Hissing with pain, Luda Mae looked up and saw the blonde, her fists gripping an old rusty crowbar. The savage expression on her face melted into fear a moment later and she dropped the heavy tool to come to her aid.

“You okay? I’m sorry – but I had to...” She was stronger than she looked; helping her up with minimal effort, the muscles and tendons showed starkly in her slender bare arms.

“I’ll live, child. Now who the hell are you and who are they?”

“I’m no one to worry ‘bout and they’re nothin’ but meat to be wasted.” She spit on the shorter one, Rock. A pool of blood was growing under his caved-in skull.

“No such thing ‘round these parts, my dear.” Smiling, she leaned down and plucked up the gun that Jim was feebly groping for. “Seems you made a poor job o’ the second one.”

To her amazement, the blonde retrieved her crowbar and with a wild light in her blue eyes, shoved the sharp end of it down and into an eye socket of their attacker. She punched it straight through the brain. The corpse twitched and convulsed, and then lay still.

Their eyes met over the gun Luda Mae held casually in her fingers, the barrel pointing down.

“Well, I think you just earned yourself a warmer welcome than most. Come inside.”

“But – the bodies – we gotta hide ‘em or somethin’!”

Luda Mae stared off across the dusty landscape, smiling again as she caught sight of a large shape lumbering closer. With a wave of her free hand, she signaled for him to hide, and the shape disappeared behind a grove of trees.

“Don’t fuss ‘bout that – I’ll get someone to take care o’ it for us.”

“The police? Is that who you called? I saw one o’ their cars drivin’ ‘round earlier, but I cain’t deal with ‘em, I –”

“Not the police, child. Only law ‘round here these days is my brother the sheriff, and he won’t bother you. I won’t let anyone bother you, you’ll see.”

~ ~ ~

She was quieter now, sipping a warm soda and watching as Luda Mae found some sandals for her cut and bruised feet amidst what was left of the store’s merchandise.

“There now, they’ll fit.”

The girl startled at a scraping noise out back, but Luda Mae stopped her from going to investigate. Folding a dusty but clean cotton dress over her arm, she took the pretty thing’s hand and led her to a sink in the small kitchen. A raised finger halted her protests as she began to wash her young charge’s face and arms.

“I done told you not to fuss, child. That’ll be my son Tommy takin’ care o’ your problem. Now he’s real shy, so you shouldn’t bother him, anyhow. Let’s just get you cleaned up and changed – you’re quite a mess. You can meet the family later.”

Luda Mae didn’t question her decision, or even stop to think how her family or friends might react. The only one she sometimes had words with was her brother Charlie, or Sheriff Hoyt, as he insisted they call him, and she knew she could handle him on this matter. The others would do what she said once she convinced her brother. The girl had saved her life, helped her up, and looked at her like a lost chick looks at her mother. It was enough. Henrietta had gotten the last new pet, so Momma Hewitt would claim this one.

_As for Tommy, we’ll worry ‘bout that when we get there. He’ll hide himself away if we let him, poor boy, and maybe that’s for the best for now. Let this child get used to us and maybe she won’t be afraid o’ him. If she’s cruel to my boy – well, there’s always the soup pot._

Helping her out of her bloody dress, Luda Mae clicked her tongue at the sight of the bruises and cuts all over the girl’s body. The absence of underclothes wasn’t necessary to tell the story, either, but she didn’t ask questions; it wasn’t time for that.

Watching as the poor thing smoothed the new dress down over the slender curves of a body far tougher than it appeared to be, a budding admiration began to grow in her sharp old heart.

“How’s it look?” the girl asked, her voice shy.

“You’re beautiful in that dress, child – a picture.” Retrieving her cigarettes and Zippo lighter, she lit a smoke as she considered all angles of the problems this girl could represent. “Now tell me this, is there someone out lookin’ for you, beyond that motorcycle filth – or do you gotta family you wanna go home to?”

“I – I dunno if they’re lookin’, but I don’t wanna go back to ‘em. Those men, they weren’t nice, but neither was my family.”

“Oh, child, I’m sorry. Family oughta be good to you. There should be no one you can trust or turn to, or count on, than your family.”

“You got that?”

“I do, and if you want, you can too. I never had me a little girl before. So, do you think you’re ready to come home and meet my family?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’d like that.”

“Well, then – what should I call you? Cain’t introduce you proper without a name.”

“I–I’m Amarie.”

“Oh, a pretty one. You gotta last name, child?”

“Not anymore.”

Her answering smile was slow and secretive. “You can be Amarie Hewitt, then. My name is Luda Mae, but people call me Momma Hewitt, or just Momma. I gotta son, Thomas, he’s older than you. Only other young ones ‘round are my cousin Wilma’s daughter, Henrietta, and her son, Jedidiah, he’s no more than four. Now your new Uncle Charlie can be bad-tempered unless you call him Sheriff Hoyt. Old Monty, he’s our uncle, he’s just bad-tempered anyhow, but I’ll see to it they’re good to you, don’t you worry none.”

“Yes, Momma.”

**************************************************

Thomas Brown Hewitt grunted under the weight of both men. One was draped over his shoulder, held steady by the hand that still clutched the chainsaw. The other, with the leather jacket bunched in his fist, was hauled along roughly, the legs dragging behind him.

He didn’t know why his mother hadn’t told him to kill the girl. Would she do it herself?

The walk home was hard and hot under the blistering sun. Sweat ran into the fresh cuts on his face, chest, and arms, but the stinging pain was welcome. It was proof that he was alive.


	3. Momma's House

**Dr. Ambrel:** That house has been there for generations, hasn’t it?

 **Deputy Hadley:** Yeah. I remember the stories ‘bout when one o’ the sons came home from the Korean War. He’d been a POW over there, got into some odd habits, and there were weird rumors. Charlie Hewitt was his name. He and his sister ‘sposedly run the place now, but they’re said to be not much better than their parents were. The house is in her name, accordin’ to county records; their folks probly changed the will when they didn’t think their son would come home.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Perhaps she is a reasonable person – why don’t we just drive up there and ring the doorbell, as you put it?

 **Deputy Hadley:** Be my guest, Doc, but if that’s how you wanna play this, I’d rather wait in the car and keep the motor runnin’.

******************************************

While Momma Hewitt explained things to her, Amarie nodded quietly, paying close attention to the rules as requested.

Some of it went beyond her limited understanding, but she didn’t worry about those things. Uncle Charlie – Sheriff Hoyt – and Tommy provided for the family. If there was almost no one left in the town, and the meat packing plant was closed, she wasn’t sure where they got meat, but she assumed the sheriff drove to another town to buy it. The family had a garden for vegetables and herbs, and she intended to do her best to help with the care of that.

Two old men, one in a wheelchair due to missing his legs right above the knees, the other in a sheriff’s uniform, listened as Momma Hewitt told her about how they lived.

The sheriff paced now and then, his boots loud on the wooden floorboards. He made her nervous, where the crippled Monty did not. He had done nothing, and said nothing, to upset her, but it was in his eyes: that hunger, and the desire to push it on her. Momma Hewitt answered his lusting expression with a gaze like steel and the sheriff looked away. Amarie knew all about the idea of a challenge, and the man had lost this one – yet judging by the frown on his face, she guessed he didn’t lose many.

“When will I meet your son?” she asked, when the explanations were finished.

“Don’t be too eager for that,” the sheriff commented, and chuckled.

Snorting at him, Momma Hewitt smiled. “I done told you my boy is shy. Give him a chance to see you with us and he’ll come ‘round in time. His room is in the basement, but I don’t want you down there botherin’ him. Let him come to you when he’s ready, but you keep outta there.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will.”

“I’ll ask Wilma and Henrietta over tomorrow, Jedidiah’s sick this evenin’. The main thing for you to remember is to stick close to me. I’ll show you your chores tomorrow, too, but for now, let’s get you settled upstairs.”

The bedroom was simple and plain, with a window and small closet. The mattress was stripped, but she’d been told that she’d be shown where bedclothes and towels were kept. It was darker in the house than she was used to, but it was a massive home compared to where she’d come from.

 _It’s a grand old Texas mansion almost, and these people are gonna be kind to me._ The relief that accompanied the thought made her sigh in contentment.

Together, she and her new mother made the bed with fresh linens under a stark and bare bulb hanging over the center of the room. She could just reach the cord that turned it on and off.

Watching her, Momma Hewitt asked, “How old are you, child?”

“Fifteen, ma’am.”

Clicking her tongue, the old woman shook her head, her gray hair moving gently around her face. “Someone might come lookin’. You’ll wanna hide if you see ‘em, y’hear? If you wanna stay, that is.”

“Please, I do! Those men stole me from my foster parents, though, and they might come after me. There’s a lot o’ ‘em, and they’ll want me back bad.”

“How many?”

Amarie thought a minute. “Ten, now.”

“They’ll want you for sure?”

Miserably afraid at the idea, Amarie nodded.

The smile the old woman gave her was cunning, almost predatory. “Don’t you worry none – you’re safe now and we’ll protect you. Bathroom’s down the hall, two doors away. There’s ‘nother downstairs – best to knock first, for either one. Charlie forgets to lock the door and he might be up to things a baby like you shouldn’t see; Monty could be up to the same, for that matter.”

“Men don’t do much I ain’t seen, ma’am,” she muttered, bile rising in her throat. She shook her head, trying to shake off the memory of her foster father’s hands, and other things, pressing her down, hurting her.

“I feared as much. Well, my boys won’t do that. Hell, Tommy might be more afraid o’ you than you could be o’ him, if not the other two, but no one will hurt you here.”

Stepping forward to hug her, Amarie melted in her arms. The sobs came, but Momma Hewitt just held her, patting her hair and singing to her softly. The tune was _Hush Little Baby_ , about mockingbirds and golden rings, and it soothed her instantly. Sitting on the bed with her, the older woman eventually coaxed her to lie down. Sometime later, she fell asleep and never heard her mother leave the room.

~ ~ ~

Amarie was woken in the night by a distant but strange noise. It was a motor of some sort. It cut across her nightmare of the motorcycles and their brutish riders to rouse her in a cold sweat, but the noise wasn’t outside.

_It’s comin’ from beneath the house?_

She slipped out of bed and padded across to the door in the white cotton nightgown Momma Hewitt had given her. The night air was warm and now that she was fully awake and more rested, curiosity grew. Opening the door, she listened to the sounds the house made. Wood floors creaked, pipes now and then rattled – but the motor drowned out the rest, even though it was far below her.

 _Should I go and see? They didn’t say I couldn’t explore…_ Amarie took one deep breath, and then walked out of her bedroom and down the hall to the steep wooden staircase.

Several of the steps squeaked, no matter where she placed her feet. Hoping the family was asleep, she crept on as quietly as she could. At the base of the stairs, she followed the noise of the motor down the narrow hall to a closed metal door at its end, near the kitchen. It ran in grooves along the floor and ceiling, and so it would slide – but was it locked?

Her fingers had just reached out to touch it when a hand grabbed her wrist. She would have screamed, but her attacker quickly clapped his other hand over her mouth. She knew it was a male – she could feel that through the clothes, as the man’s intentions pressed against her backside. Squirming, she tried to kick and bite, becoming a wild thing in his grip.

“Hush, little filly,” a coarse voice muttered above her ear – the sheriff. “Don’t cow kick me, you fool, I won’t hurt you none. Quiet down, now. You were ‘bout to be disobeyin’ Momma, you know. Cain’t have that, can we?”

She forced herself to go still, and he carefully released her. He had seemed to appear from thin air, but must have come from one of the rooms along the hall.

Her hands rose to cover her mouth and she whispered fearfully through them, “You scared me.”

“Just in time, too. That,” he answered, gesturing at the metal, “is the way down to the basement – which you’re ‘sposed to be avoidin’, ain’t that right?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, her eyes widening. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I was followin’ that noise, it woke me, and –”

“That’s just Tommy workin’ late, nothin’ to be scared of. You go on back to bed now.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Sir. I like that – but if you’re gonna be family, call me Uncle Hoyt.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You okay to get back upstairs alone? I could walk you, maybe stay awhile.” He reached up to loosen his uniform collar with an eager gleam in his eye.

Unable to suppress a shiver, she took a step backward as she shook her head. “No, thank you, Uncle Hoyt, I’ll be fine,” she murmured.

“Get on with you, then. Hurry it up.”

No longer concerned with silence, she fled up the stairs and back to her room, closing the door and leaning against it as she tried to calm her breathing and pounding heart.

 _He wanted … he coulda…_ Frowning, she thought, _He didn’t do nothin’ but keep me outta trouble, really. Momma Hewitt said to trust her that Uncle Hoyt wouldn’t hurt me and he didn’t…_

Sleep was elusive with the motor noise going on below, but as she fell into wondering what Thomas was doing, she was able to relax.

_That’s some sorta appliance or tool he’s usin’. Maybe Momma will tell me in the mornin’? Uncle Hoyt said he was workin’. I bet he’s huge – bet he could take ‘em all on. If he wanted to, if he liked me; I gotta make him like me…_

She got back into bed and began imagining her new brother hurting them for her – all of them, from the unknown parents to the foster parents, and then the bikers.

_Whenever my ‘father’ went after other women, his wife would give him hell. Why didn’t she care ‘bout him goin’ after me? She couldn’t not know what he was doin’ with his ‘blanket game’! He said it was ‘sposed to let us pretend we were explorin’ a cave, but every time he dropped that nasty wool blanket over us on the kitchen floor, he didn’t pretend a bit o’ it. She’d be in the room too, fixin’ his breakfast – just movin’ ‘round the blanket if we got in her way. Anytime I tried to make a noise, he’d whack my head on the tiles. Why’d he talk like I liked it? She never seemed to care, or even notice…_

Thinking the noise her brother was making might be from a drill or saw, she envisioned him using it to protect her. The saw blade would slice through the blanket and into her father’s back.

_Maybe he’d rip the blanket away and make the bitch see – make her watch, before shoving the drill bit into her head. Then he’d take me away, take me here, and I’d be safe._

The noises downstairs slowly blended with both imaginings and nightmares. By the time they ceased, she had fallen into sweeter dreams of home and family, like she’d never known before.

**************************************************

Luda Mae swore as her brother finally returned down the basement stairs. “What took you so long?” When he didn’t answer, she sighed and asked, “What did Monty say?”

“He’ll kiss your ass, won’t he? Do whatever you want, like the rest o’ ‘em. It’s me you gotta convince, not him. Your new pet’s what kept me. She heard Tommy’s toy runnin’ and was ‘bout to step outta bounds. I sent her back to bed.”

Glaring at his leering grin, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Sent her in one piece and without special attention?”

“Aw, I suppose I spooked her a bit, but what’s the harm in that? You told her not to come down here, but forgot to mention which door to avoid.”

Satisfied, Luda Mae turned to watch her son. He was almost finished quartering Amarie’s friends farther back in the long and rambling basement.

It was hard to be heard over the chainsaw racket, but if she ordered him to turn it off he would only sulk and she needed his attention. Periodically, she saw his head lift and hoped that he was following the conversation, though she couldn’t see his eyes at this distance through the latest mask.

“It’s settled then,” she announced to Charlie. “She’s family and none o’ you are gonna lay a hand on her unless she invites you to.”

“Nothin’s settled, Momma. Sure, the news ‘bout the meat delivery is nice, but that’s a handsome piece o’ baby girl you got upstairs, young ‘nuff for outside law to come lookin’ for, too. I can pick ‘em off one by one as long as you like and happy to oblige, but if they all come at us at once, we’ll have ourselves a problem.”

“No we won’t. They’ll be huntin’ those idiots on the motorcycles, not us.”

“Forgettin’ somethin’? What ‘bout her? What if she trips over somethin’ that scares her ‘nuff to run and sick ‘em on us?”

“What would scare her, besides you?”

“Tommy, that’s what. Her kind was never apt to take kindly to him, or did you forget that, too?”

Thomas picked his head up sharply at the sound of his name, saw that they hadn’t called him, and went back to cutting.

An old pain and rage twisted in Luda Mae’s heart at her brother’s words. “No, I ain’t never forgotten what those whores and bastards put my boy through. This girl’s different. She whacked those men as brutally as you woulda, and saved my life doin’ it. She knew ‘nuff to wanna hide ‘em too, and begged me not to call the law, so she won’t be too eager to run to any cop. As for my Thomas, we can work ‘round that.” Changing her mind about his participation, she called to him, “Tommy, cut that off, now, and c’mere to me.”

He turned the chainsaw off reluctantly, his thick, bloodstained fingers stroking it before he stepped around the wooden crate table to approach her.

She knew how the world saw him, she’d heard them screaming it often enough, in both anger and terror. With his unkempt and bloody appearance, the clothes getting ragged, and the leather butcher’s apron soaked red, they only saw the monster they accused him of being. None of them had looked beneath the masks, to find the scarred and traumatized boy who could be gentle, loyal, fiercely protective, and so obedient that any mother would be proud to call him her son.

Luda Mae had found him where the world had put him on August 7, 1939 – in a dumpster behind the Lee Brothers slaughterhouse, bloody and crying. He’d been wrapped in brown butcher paper, the tiny cord still attached to the heaving pale belly. Now, every time the cleaver fell, or the whirring blade cut, he carved a measure of justice in their flesh, whether he saw it that way or not. Sometimes, of course, it was hard to know what he thought about things, as the poor dear never spoke a word.

She gave him a warm smile as he slowly came to stand before her. At six feet and five inches, he towered over his tall family, but his eyes were the kindest of them all, too. The way he hung his head hurt her. This boy she loved had been so badly mistreated.

“Tommy, I need you to understand this; Amarie’s gonna stay with us, like Jedidiah. I want you to keep her safe, protect her, y’hear? More o’ those men’ll be comin’ ‘round and they’ll wanna hurt her and take her away, but she wants to stay with us, she wants to be family.”

“Yeah, I can tell he’s thrilled to get a sister,” Charlie muttered.

“Hush.” Luda Mae lifted her hand to touch her son’s broad chest. “You understand? You don’t gotta be afraid, neither; I’ll talk with her and she’ll understand, too – that she can trust you. Now, won’t that be nice? She’ll help us ‘round the house and it’ll be okay, don’t you worry none.”

Reaching to rub at his crotch with a sneer, Charlie commented, “I know I gotta few things she can help with.”

Ignoring him, Luda Mae took Tommy’s hand and led him away to his rumpled bed in a dingy corner of the basement. The low fire in the furnace flickered a few feet away, casting shifting shadows over an old porcelain tub and the chained hooks hanging above it.

At her direction, he sat heavily with his large hands hanging limply between his knees, bunching up the thick leather apron. Sitting beside him, she gently stroked the new face he had made. It was cobbled together with Jim’s mouth and Rock’s wild, long brown hair over his own, mixed with a few older pieces he never wanted to part with. The lips that opened to show her a tentative smile were pale pink under the stretched opening of the mask.

“That’s a nice one,” she told him, “real nice.” Taking a breath for patience, she continued, “I promise I won’t allow her to be cruel to you, Tommy. You gotta trust me on that. I know you’ll do anythin’ your uncle tells you, but don’t let him get you in trouble.” She heard Charlie coming closer and added for his benefit, “He can get his own toy if he wants to play with somethin’ new. Amarie will be your sister and if we give her a little time, she’ll love us as much as we love her, okay?”

He barely nodded, but it was enough for her. The massive shoulders and powerful arms had begun to tremble, though, and she impulsively embraced him, her fingers stroking the shorter hair at the back of his neck, avoiding the biker’s clotted locks.

“My poor sweet boy,” she murmured at his ear.

Charlie’s boots clomped to a halt in front of the little alcove. “You think he’s agreein’ cuz he likes the idea? He won’t disappoint you, that’s all. Who’s always lookin’ out for him when it counts? You got my word, Tommy – if she screws up and calls you names, all bets are off. Hell, I’ll give you her head, then – I won’t need it.”

Luda Mae scowled up at him as Thomas tried to hide his ravaged face in her chest, his hands covering the new mask as a low, guttural sound escaped his lips. “Go on with you,” she told Charlie crossly, regretting her sharp tone only when Thomas winced. “I’ll handle the girl and you won’t.”

“‘Til she slips up, you mean. They always do.” Chuckling, he left them and headed for the stairs.

“He’s wrong, Tommy, you’ll see. Now why don’t you clean up a bit and get some sleep? It’s late.” She gently made him release her and stood. “I don’t want her down here, y’hear me? She knows not to.”

Her son didn’t answer. Sighing, she went up the stairs to find her brother, stepping over the shallow water at their base that Charlie often waded through in his boots.

Behind her, Thomas didn’t move as she walked away and she knew he might sit there for hours, or perhaps go back to the work table. He understood the new rules where Amarie was concerned, though; she was sure of that, and she knew he’d do as he was told.

_Such a good, sweet boy..._

Her brother confronted her in the living room and she didn’t try to avoid it. Old Monty watched them from his wheelchair in the corner and it was obvious the two of them had been talking and were in agreement.

“Tell me why,” Charlie demanded. “Give me one good reason, besides the little darlin’ savin’ your neck. Tommy was headin’ your way, he woulda taken care o’ it. So I wanna real answer, and if I don’t get it, I’m gonna go upstairs and stuff that bitch’s slit ‘til I get bored, and then drag her by the hair down to Tommy. I’ll just bet he’d be more than happy to have her, too. You’ve probly got him confused and hurt as hell with this damn stunt already, after I just got him turned into a useful member o’ this family – again.”

Luda Mae’s stony glare would have cowed anyone left in the town, except her brother, but she knew better than to aggravate him. One glance at Monty’s amputated legs was all the reminder she needed that Charlie held the real power in the family.

Thomas never wanted to upset her, but he had obeyed his uncle when directed to remove one of Monty’s legs as a way to treat a bullet wound. The chainsaw had been new to him then, however, the blade less steady, and it had cut into the good leg, too. Her brother had then ordered Thomas to … even him up … to avoid infection, directing his nephew to cut away the other leg as well – for balance. No protest she had made had mattered then, to either of them.

Charlie’s vision had saved the family and his strength continued to drive them to survive. No matter how often she had worried in the beginning that his deeds would bring them all down, his unfailing cleverness won out, time after time. So if she intended to keep Amarie safe, she would have to make the head of the family want to, for reasons he could agree with.

“I want her for Tommy, to care for him.”

“Well, dip me in shit, it’s a beautiful dream! That girl ain’t gonna do a damn thing but scream her shapely ass off first time she claps eyes on him!”

“She won’t. I’ll see to that.” Sighing, she sat down on the couch and looked up at him. “We’re gettin’ old, you fool. Who’s gonna take care o’ Tommy when we cain’t? Henrietta? She’s too sweet and soft to handle him, and he’s never been at ease ‘round her, that much. I don’t want my boy to end up alone.” Staring down at her hands, she whispered, “Just lemme try to teach her. She could be good for him...”

“Aw, shit,” he complained, though she heard the softer note in his tone. He laid a hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t look up. “We can let you try, Momma, but if it won’t work out, she only gets one shot. I ain’t lettin’ some sweet ass bitch put my nephew through hell again. If she does, I swear, I’ll hold her down and let him carve her up. Hellfire, they’re always quieter afterward, and that’d make Monty happy.”

Luda Mae nodded. “Okay.”

“Liked your other suggestion, though – gettin’ myself my own toy. If opportunity knocks, I’ll have to do that. Damn, the last one was a year ago!” He walked away whistling to himself, leaving his sister and uncle in silence.

~ ~ ~

Amarie was getting used to her chores and seemed to enjoy them, too. She was a hard worker, and in only a few days, her industry had begun to impress the others in spite of their reluctance to accept her. She had seemed to enjoy meeting Wilma and Henrietta, as well, though she’d been a bit shy.

Thomas mostly hid himself away, as she’d figured he would, but Luda Mae had also found him in odd corners, keeping out of sight as he watched the girl. After badgering Charlie about it, afraid he’d given orders, she had had to accept his amused response.

“He’s curious, is all. Never saw such a pretty thing off the slab for so long. Shit, maybe he’d like to play with his new sister – ain’t never had the chance at that neither, the poor fuck.”

In the midst of that conversation, it was Luda Mae’s turn to laugh when Amarie ran up, breathless and eager, and asked her uncle to teach her to shoot. The stunned look on his face had set her chuckling instantly.

“Momma said you would, Uncle Hoyt. She said you were the best shot ‘round here! Can we start now? The washin’s all hung up and it’s still light ‘nuff, ain’t it?”

His expression changing slowly to interest, it finally settled on pride. “Yeah, it’s light ‘nuff. Let’s go scare some rabbits.” He spit some of his chewing tobacco between his boots, grinned at the girl, and led her away.

“Get back in at dark, both o’ you. Wilma and Henrietta are bringin’ Jedidiah this evenin’ for supper.”

Charlie waved his response, and before Luda Mae turned away, she smiled at the sight of him handing his sheriff’s revolver to his delighted new niece.

 _Figured that would work,_ she thought. _Show him the child’s gotta taste for violence, and they’ll be buddies by the time the food’s on the table. If he stops leerin’ at her, she’ll be able to relax ‘round him. God alone knows what’s been done to her already, but I’d fair bet we’re the first to treat her kindly._

Passing the silent hulking shadow of her son, whom Amarie had never noticed, she patted his arm and then gestured for him to follow her back inside.

“C’mon and help me with supper. If you cain’t learn to cut ‘em down smaller, you’ll have to keep haulin’ ‘em up for me.”

~ ~ ~

“He’s doin’ so much better,” Wilma said, smiling. The obese woman reached for another coconut-filled chocolate.

The little black-haired boy on her daughter Henrietta’s lap watched them all with wide eyes. When Charlie scooped him up and carried him to the den, they heard the television snap on, followed by Monty complaining about the noise.

Luda Mae sat and talked with her friends as Amarie cleared the table. Before she finished, they turned the talk to discussing Thomas – who had eaten his food downstairs, carried to him by Henrietta.

“I swear if I didn’t bring Tommy a plate now and then, I’d forget he was down there,” the frail young woman commented, shaking her head sadly.

Henrietta’s short-cropped hair was a change and Luda Mae wondered if Wilma had cut it. Yet the severe style suited her somber gray dress, just as well as her mother’s more colorful floral dress matched her rich brown hair, worn in curls around her head.

The colorful Wilma asked, “Cain’t you get him upstairs a little more, Luda Mae?”

“Amarie makes him shy,” she replied, giving the girl a pat on the hand when she rejoined them.

“Such a pretty thing,” Wilma muttered. “My, my...”

“Yes,” Luda Mae answered, her smile proud. “I never had me a daughter.”

Henrietta looked Amarie over approvingly. “You look settled in, sweetie; it’s good to see. You were so tired and nervous when I first met you.”

“Did he like the food?” Amarie asked. Her fingers toyed with the edge of the white lace tablecloth, her eyes demurely downcast.

“Tommy? I expect so, though I didn’t stay long.”

“Does he talk to you?”

“No, sweetie, he don’t talk, not that I ever heard.”

Luda Mae sipped her water, her fingers holding the Mason jar firmly. “I told her she could ask questions now, if you two didn’t mind. Thought maybe it was time she knew a little more ‘bout her brother.”

“Well,” Wilma began, “it started when he was just a tiny boy.”

“What started?”

Henrietta replied, her voice a sympathetic whisper. “Skin disease, poor thing.”

Luda Mae took over the story and told most of it in order, sparing few details on her blighted son’s deformity, while avoiding the more upsetting truths of the family’s past.

Amarie paled, but her expression was sad and pitying, not disgusted. That hopeful reaction led her to tell more – about the school days filled with torment and ridicule.

Thomas had often skipped school to escape the cruelty of his classmates, only to have the local bullies cut classes to harass him at home. Then she told the worst of it – the horrified rejection of the girls, and the vicious taunting they had begun that continued for years, which only encouraged the boys to more and more debasing behavior.

“That’s what the school taught my son,” she finished, her knuckles white on her glass. “He learned how to fear folks his age and eventually, how to hate ‘em back.”

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry! Is – is that why he won’t come up to meet me?”

Henrietta reached out to stroke her shining blonde hair. “We know you wouldn’t be unkind, sweetie, but he has such a hard time trustin’ strangers. Just try to be patient with him, and he’ll see you don’t mean no harm.”

~ ~ ~

Luda Mae turned out the light and was almost out the door when Amarie spoke from the bed.

“You said he’d be afraid o’ me, said it days ago. How can I help him know I won’t hurt him?”

“You’re so young, child. My boy’s thirty years old now, but in a lot o’ ways he’s younger than you are, closer to little Jedidiah in how he thinks and feels, much o’ the time. He’s known nothin’ but grief from people who look just like you for so long and it’s hard for him to understand.”

“Ain’t there nothin’ I can do?”

“Ask me again in the mornin’, Amarie, it’s late now. I can tell you this, and maybe it’ll calm your mind. You ain’t seen him, but he’s seen you. My Tommy’s been watchin’ you pretty close since you came. We think he’s curious ‘bout you, and that’s a start.”

She closed the door softly and took a deep breath before going down the hall. The girl was sympathetic, eager to please, and curious herself. Luda Mae sighed.

_Maybe there’s hope yet. I’d so love to see my boy smile._

**************************************************

Water dripped everywhere. Would it puddle, rise, and flood, as it had at the foot of the stairs? Thomas shook his head. It didn’t matter.

_Momma’s keepin’ the girl, keepin’ her alive, keepin’ her..._

The younger woman, the thin one they called Henrietta, had come and brought him food. Knowing she wouldn’t leave until he ate, he had begun to pick at it, nibbling a little. When her eyes had left him, he could breathe again.

Now the food lay neglected on the floor near his bed, to be nibbled by insects, and perhaps later by rats. Sinking down onto the bed, he listened to it creak as he pulled his body into a tight curl, scarred and bloody arms around his knees.

The cuts still hurt, yet the urge to retrieve the knife again rose. It was far away, on the work table. Closer, within reach of an outstretched hand, the chainsaw was perched on its rickety table of bone and skin.

Momma would be angry if he used that. When he’d had the last accident, falling, the chain blade slicing into his shoulder, she’d been terribly angry.

_Get up. Get the knife._

Utterly mesmerized by the saw, he didn’t move. For hours, he stared at the black outline of the thing that had so changed him, hearing its music in his mind.

Eventually, growing hunger drove him up, but he didn’t leave his bed. Reaching for the cold plate, he laid it beside him. One flick of a finger dislodged the only creature that hadn’t run, and then he lifted the hunk of cooked meat and bit into it, chewing and swallowing mechanically, without enjoyment.

_They’re keepin’ her..._


	4. My Boy

**Deputy Hadley:** Doc, wait! I don’t think we should go back up there ‘til we know more.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Yet you keep telling me about these colorful people, wetting my appetite to meet them. We can’t discover much from Austin, after all. I admit, David, I was reluctant to go, for a time – but now I may be too curious to stay away.

 **Deputy Hadley:** I can change that. It’s highly possible that Thomas Hewitt killed your uncle. I found a man who worked for him, the last employee besides Hewitt. I think before we go anywhere near Fuller, you need to hear what this man has to say.

**************************************************

“You said I should ask you again … what I can do?” Amarie watched her mother closely as they took down the washing, heaping it into a pair of wicker baskets.

“Best advice I can give is to keep makin’ friends with your uncles. Seein’ to the washin’ will certainly help with Monty – it was his chore for years and he hates it.”

“What ‘bout Tommy?”

“If he sees you with the family, accepted, a part o’ us, it’ll help with calmin’ him down, too.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Child, I wanna encourage you, but I gotta know: after all you heard, why’re you so eager to see him?”

Amarie grasped that it was a serious question, deserving a serious answer. She thought about it, and tried to pour the fears and fantasies into words. “Never had a real family before, not folks who cared ‘bout me, or were nice to me. Y’all have been like a dream, takin’ me in like you did. Hearin’ ‘bout Tommy’s schoolin’, though – I think we’d be a lot alike; they never left me in peace, neither.”

“How far did you get, in your lessons?”

“Oh, I didn’t go no more after sixth grade, ma’am. My father, that is, my foster father, wanted me home helpin’ out.”

“He wasn’t nice to you? Did he ever do things you didn’t like, touchin’ you and such?”

Amarie looked down at her feet. “Yes, ma’am, he did. That’s why … why I wanna make Tommy like me. If I had a brother, he’d protect me, wouldn’t he? Isn’t that what brothers do?”

“It is indeed, child.”

The morning was nice, but it was early. In a few hours, the mid-August heat would begin to bake the ground under their feet.

Amarie was quiet until she came across a large and worn work shirt, permanently stained with brown flecks and smears, and bearing several tears in the front. It was far too big to fit the old men.

“This is his,” she muttered.

Momma Hewitt gave her a long look. “Now and then, I manage to get him outta somethin’ and into somethin’ else. Mostly, we let him be.”

“Henrietta said he was … a little slow, but Uncle Hoyt told me that he … wasn’t retarded. Is he?”

“No, we don’t believe so, though his illness didn’t help much, no more than those bastards at the school. He understands us – he just don’t talk. I done told you he’s more like a little boy than a man. That’s what your uncle means when he says Tommy’s ‘misunderstood’. The best way to deal with him is to remember that he grasps things like a child would and often gets ‘em mixed up.”

“He must be a big child.”

“Stands six foot five and weighs ‘bout 300 pounds,” Momma Hewitt announced with pride. “He has a hard time with some things, but he’s stronger than an ox. You’re what – five foot six? You’d ‘bout come up to his chest.”

Amarie slipped her finger through one of the tears in the front of the shirt. On closer inspection, it looked like a knife slice. “What did this?”

“Oh, he probly cut himself. He helps me with some o’ the kitchen chores and sometimes gets movin’ a bit fast with a blade.”

As she held out the shirt to display the stunning amount of cuts in it, they stared at each other in silence for a moment, but when Momma Hewitt spoke again, she changed the subject.

“Tell me ‘bout the men who snatched you. We never talked ‘bout what happened.”

Amarie wouldn’t have thought the story could be told so easily, but she trusted this woman, and once she started, the words rushed out – if not painlessly, then at least without fear.

They carried the baskets into the dining room to fold the clothes, neither woman paying attention to Monty reading an old newspaper in the living room, or to Sheriff Hoyt when he returned from a drive. The screen door slammed, and his boots stomped into the house, but he didn’t appear or call out to them.

“It ain’t just men, there are women in the gang, too,” she continued. “One o’ ‘em is the worst. She’s the leader’s woman, but she was gone for a couple o’ months when they first grabbed me, so Frankie claimed me at first. Then Kelli came back and she was mad ‘bout me takin’ her place. She made Frankie give me up to the others who didn’t have a girl. There were three o’ ‘em.”

“Oh, child, I am sorry. Y’know they’ll pay for it all if they come ‘round here.”

“Uncle Hoyt said that too.” She smiled slightly, and then sighed. “Kelli still hated me; I guess she was afraid Frankie might could like me better. So she used to get all three o’ the men to be hard on me and hurt me. She told ‘em it was a contest, to see who was really good at it. Every one o’ ‘em wanted to please her, so they did their best. Frankie tried to stop it, he was always pretty nice to me, but she just got worse after that.”

“Were the first two in that bunch that was hurtin’ you?”

Amarie nodded. “The other one was a man named Tony, but I hate Kelli more than any o’ ‘em.”

“So the leader was nice? You liked what he did?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she whispered, bowing her head.

“No call to be ashamed, child. Just don’t tell your uncle ‘bout that part, or tell him you miss it. He’ll just offer to oblige you.”

“I’m not afraid o’ him now like I was at first. He can be nice, too.”

“Thank you, honey,” Uncle Hoyt said, entering the room with a bright smile on his face. “You’re too kind. I can even return the favor – spotted a couple more o’ your biker types in town just now, and one o’ ‘em was a woman. Did this Kelli have brown hair in a braid?”

Surprised, Amarie nodded.

“Well, then, I’ll just go collect ‘em for you.”

“Amazin’ what you learn when you listen in doorways,” Momma Hewitt chided him.

“Ain’t it though? I just came home for more shells, but even so. Wish me luck, honey.”

“Good luck, Uncle Hoyt.” When he left them, Amarie clutched the shirt she’d been folding in her fists. “Do you think he’d lemme see her if he gets her?”

“Child, he’d probly let you kick her, if you asked him.” With a raised eyebrow, she took the shirt from her before her grip could wrinkle it and finished folding it.

“Could I have it?”

“Have what?”

She blushed. “Tommy’s shirt.” Her blush deepened under her mother’s steely gaze, but she didn’t waver.

With a sigh, it was handed over. “Don’t start a collection, mind. The boy only has so many clothes.”

Amarie started to grin, but then jumped in fright at the sound of a metallic sliding crash inside the house. “What was that?”

Momma Hewitt moved to block the doorway. “Stay right here, Amarie.”

Out on the porch, Uncle Hoyt yelled out, “Hurry up, rot you, we ain’t got the whole damn day! You make me miss this one and I’ll tan your hide!”

She darted to the window that would give her a view of the patrol car. Uncle Hoyt was walking to the driver’s door, shotgun in hand. Then Amarie saw a massive shape leave the gloom of the porch and walk into the sunlight. His back was to her, but there was only one person he could be.

He wore pants, a work shirt, and a butcher’s apron, with heavy boots. His hair was unusually thick, longer at the back, and badly tangled. The clothes were rough, dirty, stained red and brown, but his thick arms were heavily muscled between the short sleeves and a pair of leather wrappings that covered his forearms.

Amarie gasped, crushing the shirt to her chest again, as Thomas Hewitt lifted a long-bladed heavy chainsaw in his large hands, showing it to his uncle.

“You brought your little buddy – good. Get over to Crawford Mill quick and don’t lay one fuckin’ finger on the woman – she’s mine.”

**************************************************

Luda Mae sent Amarie up to her room to get her safely out of the way before the men returned. Checking on her after an hour, she found her standing at the window, the shirt still crumpled in her hands.

“Amarie, I need to speak with you ‘bout your Uncle Hoyt.” The girl turned to face her, tears running down her cheeks. _Well, she looks angry more than anythin’ else – good. “_ Come and sit with me,” she invited, patting the bed beside her as she sat down.

“Can I help when they come home?” She sat slowly, her palms smoothing the wrinkled shirt over her lap.

“Maybe, if he asks you. Your uncle probly ain’t gonna treat this woman nicely if he brings her here, mind; after all you been through, you may wanna steer clear.”

The expression the child turned to her surprised her, but not as much as her words. The room felt abruptly warmer as the sweet and charming thing confessed the hatred in her heart.

“Will he do to her what she told ‘em to do to me? I saw that in his eyes when I first came here, that he was the sort, like they were, to wanna do that.” She took a breath, and added, “I want him to, Momma. I want him to hurt her like that. She used to watch ‘em do it to me, too. I dunno if I could do that – watch it – but I want her to hurt. If I ask him, do you think he would?”

Moments passed in silence before Luda Mae could think of a response. Fear that she might not say the right things, or lead the girl in the safest course, stuck her tongue to the roof of her mouth. The balance was precarious – but if she managed it right, the threat her brother represented to Amarie would be gone, and then the family might have real peace.

Swallowing hard, she touched the girl’s shoulder gently and murmured in her ear. “I think so, yes. He always takes care o’ us and does his best to please us, but you lemme call you downstairs, y’hear? Don’t leave this room ‘til then.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll listen for you.”

“When I call you, you ask your uncle for what you want, but be quick, child – he may have his hands full.”

~ ~ ~

Luda Mae praised her son as he hauled the mangled corpse of a male in leather and denim through the basement door. The metal slammed shut in his wake, and then the piercing screams and howls of rage of the woman shattered the quiet of their home.

Charlie yanked her in by her long, dark braid, the muzzle of his revolver bruising her neck and back as she fought him.

“Damn it, keep it down!” Monty yelled from another room. He wheeled in, flushed with irritation, but the sight of the struggle in the foyer rendered him speechless.

“Lookie here, Momma,” Charlie announced, gleeful over his prize. “Don’t bother settin’ an extra place for dinner, though – we got other plans, don’t we, honey?”

The woman screamed again and spit curses at them all, until the revolver came down across the back of her skull. She fell to the wooden floor like a dead pig and quiet reigned again.

Before he could stoop down to pick her up, Luda Mae glanced up the staircase and called Amarie’s name. Charlie gave her a questioning look, but didn’t comment.

“She’s gotta favor to ask; I think you’ll like it.”

Watching the exchange as the girl came downstairs and spoke to her uncle, Luda Mae couldn’t stop the smile that spread over her face. Charlie’s grin was predatory and delighted at once, and in that moment, she knew her brother had finally accepted his niece, without reservations.

“You got it, little darlin’.” He reached down to grab his captive’s shoulders and grunted. “Hell, you’re strong, honey, help me get this bitch up those stairs, there’s a good girl.”

“Yes, sir.” Amarie came down, hugged him, and then picked up the unconscious woman’s booted feet.

Together, they struggled to take the prize up to his bedroom, but Luda Mae didn’t follow, or ask if the girl intended to witness her favor being carried out. For the first time, she didn’t worry about her being alone in Charlie’s company, either.

The pleased smile still warm on her face, she went outside to the herb garden to pick some bay leaves to go in the stew pot. Dinner would be kept hot on the stove until Charlie was ready to eat, and if Amarie didn’t come down to help prepare the meal, that was fine. Some things were more important than chores.

**************************************************

Thomas continued to work as his uncle paced before the table, speaking about the woman, the one he had taken upstairs. His pleasure was obvious, but a lot of the words weren’t clear.

If he asked a question that wasn’t understood, Thomas would tilt his head at him, to ask for a better explanation – but unless he ordered him to stop, the cleaver continued to rise and fall.

“That mighta been as good as it gets, Tommy, damn. Got her trussed up and all, too, so she ain’t goin’ nowhere. Now you remember what I done told you? You can wait ‘til Amarie’s in bed if you want, but I expect you to come see me later tonight. Don’t pay your momma no mind, neither, if she fusses at you. Got it?”

Thomas nodded slowly, the cleaver pausing after it hacked into another bone. In the ensuing silence, he returned to the work, the rhythmic sharp thuds loud.

“Fuck me runnin’, I’m startin’ to like that little gal, too,” his uncle continued, his fist rapping against the wheel of the bone grinder near the head of the table. “She asked me to hurt that bitch, right down to fuckin’ her bloody. Damn. Course, she didn’t say it quite that way, but it’s what she meant, you could see that. Tommy, quit that a minute and listen up.”

He stopped instantly, mid-swing. Waiting with eyes downcast, he was half afraid his uncle would be angry that he’d watched the girl, ever since she got here. His breath came shorter under the mask as the silence grew.

“No call to look so whipped, boy, you did good this mornin’. Listen close, though. Your momma’s likely right ‘bout Amarie; hell, how often is she wrong? I know you been shadowin’ her already and I ain’t tellin’ you to quit it, but I want you to give her a fair chance. She actually seems to like you – for all you ain’t even met yet. She’s got your shirt stuffed under her pillow, anyhow, if that gets your blood pumpin’ at all.”

Thomas tilted his head at him slightly, confused. He was wearing his shirt.

“Aw, never mind, one thing at a time. I know you got no idea what the hell I mean. You just be sure you come upstairs to me tonight and we’ll see what we cain’t teach you.”

Nodding hesitantly, he began to relax only when his uncle smiled at him again.

“Okay, well, you don’t have to worry none ‘bout your supper, Momma will bring you some. Try to eat this time, boy – you never touched your dinner all day, and that stew was good. I know your sister’s put you off your feed right now, but if you don’t eat, you’ll be sick, soon ‘nuff.” He headed off into the back for a minute. “You don’t need water just now, so I’m gonna cut it off for a bit. I’ll turn it back on shortly, so don’t you fool with it.”

When he left, Thomas stared down at the meat he was butchering for a long time, trying to understand all that his uncle had said.

Shaking his head, he put the cleaver down and went to the far corner to tear off long pieces from the wide paper roll mounted there. He used his knife to cut sections of twine, and brought the supplies back to the meat, where he began methodically wrapping some of the larger chunks.

His mother came down the stairs with a steaming plate as he was dropping the brown paper bundles into the long, rusty freezer box. He straightened and turned to acknowledge her, wincing at her smile.

_She’s just like he was. They want the girl._

Memories crowded into his mind, peppered with voices that mocked and tormented him. The sharp cuts of stones biting into his back were abruptly real and he slumped down against the metal freezer, covering his head with his hands as the box lid slammed shut.

“Tommy?” She laid the plate on the lid and bent to touch his shoulder. “What is it, what’s wrong?” When he didn’t respond or move, his mother sat down on the freezer, moving the plate aside. “Is it Amarie? Oh, my, how can I make you understand? She’s no threat to you. I want her to help us care for you, Tommy, and she wants to. Now I know I cain’t explain things, you’ll just have to find out for yourself, but I wish you’d try. Will you? Try for me?”

He wanted her to be pleased with him and dreaded her anger, her disappointment – but how could she ask for this? Whatever they did to them upstairs, down here there was just one end. Only when the girl was on the work table, opened and red, could he look at her without fear.

_Then, she cain’t hurt._

His mother stood and went to the stairs, shaking her head. She was sad, disappointed. Without looking back, she murmured, “Eat what I brought you, Tommy. Don’t let it get cold.”

Thomas groaned and struggled to stand. Everything was a wash of confusion, but he couldn’t make her sad. He stretched out a hand to touch the hem of her dress as she climbed the stairs. Would she notice?

His head bowed, only to be lifted by her hand under his jaw a moment later. Her smile was warm again as she bent to reach him. Staring up at her through the face he wore, he took a deep, trembling breath and nodded to her once, slowly.

“Thank you, Tommy,” she whispered, her fingers stroking his leather-clad cheek gently. “You’re such a good, sweet boy. Momma loves you – never you fear ‘bout that.”

Silence returned and he was alone, standing stiffly for several breaths after she left. When he could move, he climbed the stairs impulsively and peered through the lens in the door.

The hall was empty at first, and then his mother and the girl could be seen going from the dining room to the kitchen, carrying dishes. Once, the girl paused, looking his way. Did she know about the lens? Did she know he watched?

She was small, delicate, and pretty – just like all of the others. Suppressing a shudder, he turned away and stomped back down the stairs, splashing through the water on the floor. Ignoring the plate, he returned to the work table.

The cleaver waited there, beside the knife his uncle had given him, the one with the blade that sprung at a touch. Both were red.

His fingers grasped the handle of the knife, his wrist angling it back toward his chest. The point entered clothing and flesh without pausing before the hand turned, drawing the edge shallowly down toward the floor.

Erupting under the teat, the pain chased the fear in a path to his waist, where the thick cowhide belt stopped it. Blood dripped down his leg and over his fingers as he forced his breathing to slow.

Dropping the knife on the table, he put his apron back on before he picked up the cleaver, lifted it, and brought it down on the meat. Another bone shattered, more blood sprayed, but the pain was what mattered. With each strike, it bloomed, and as long as it lasted, he would feel alive, for just a little while.

~ ~ ~

The work was done, or he would never have heard the noise. Picking up the chainsaw, Thomas moved swiftly to the back of the basement, past the furnace room that housed his bed, and down one of the tunnel-like corridors that led to the storm cellar doors. He climbed the smaller wooden ladder steps carefully, unsure if they’d still take his weight.

Neither locked nor bolted, the doors moved slightly as the evening wind outside rose. Thomas pushed at one of them a little, lifting it enough to peer out. Startling at seeing the girl just outside, he froze – but she hadn’t seen him.

She stood awkwardly on one leg, her other foot lifted as she rubbed the toes there. Had she kicked the wooden frame?

Putting her foot down again, she limped a few paces before walking normally. In her hands, she held a towel and a roll of cloth that could be clothes. He could hear her after she left his line of sight; she seemed to be heading for the waterhole.

Located at a bend in the dusty creek bed a short distance away, the natural pool might be the only place that still held water this late in the summer. As the girl continued on toward it, the noise she made drifted away.

His mother’s words haunted him as he hesitated, making him moan softly in distress. _Protect her. Others will take her. Try – try – try..._

Suppressing a low growl, he opened the storm doors and crept up into the wind. The chainsaw was quiet and still, but the weight of it was a comfort in his hand.


	5. Lessons

**Deputy Hadley:** Apparently, Hewitt had worked there for years. I’m sorry, Doc. I guess your uncle picked the wrong day to fire the man. One thing I don’t get is, if this guy was the one dolin’ out the cursin’, why’d Hewitt hurt your uncle?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** The lackey doesn’t hold the power, the boss does. Even a man with Hewitt’s problems is capable of recognizing that. He’d probably been taught to do that job and it might have been all he had to help feed his family. For a troubled person, it is common that a loss of employment becomes the catalyst that leads the subject into committing a first murder.

 **Deputy Hadley:** That’s pretty cold, Doc. He was your uncle – family.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** He was a brute, and likely instrumental in helping to exacerbate the personality problems in the young Hewitt. I’m not studying this case to avenge my uncle, David. I merely intended to keep a promise to my mother, to discover what had happened to him. It is Thomas Hewitt who is worth my time – unparalleled careers are built studying such men. So I want to know everything you’ve got on him and his whole clan.

 **Deputy Hadley:** Fine, I’ll scratch your back, but then it’ll be my turn.

**************************************************

There was barely enough water left at the bend in the creek to wade in. It reached her knees, but the bottom was a slippery, sticky mud that Amarie wasn’t willing to get more than her toes into.

_Hopefully, the house water can be fixed before breakfast._

One large slanting rock, that might have once been part of the bank before it gave way in the heat, became a convenient bathing platform. She could sit on it and splash the water up for a quick wash. It would be dark soon, and she didn’t want to be out much after that.

Stripping down, she left her dirty dress in a heap, with the clean clothes and towel folded in a pile on the bank beside it. Washing up as best as she could, her thoughts drifted away to the memory of seeing her enemy subdued.

The woman had been trussed up spread-eagle on Uncle Hoyt’s heavy old four-poster bed, with her head at the foot, and a heavy wooden beam securing her wrists with rope to the frame of the footboard. He had explained to her that the carved columned railings weren’t strong enough to hold her.

An inadequate gag stuffed in her mouth, Kelli had returned to cursing and threatening the moment she came to. It only amused the sheriff, of course, who had allowed his niece to slap the woman and insult her all she liked.

She hadn’t been able to watch him do what he wanted, but knowing it would happen was a delicious revenge.

As she walked out, she had told Kelli that now she would find out how it felt. _That was the best – seein’ her eyes as I left her there._

Amarie’s thoughts turned to Frankie, the man Kelli had claimed, and hurt her to keep. A big man, he hadn’t been gentle, but he had made her feel good, and he’d been kind. It hadn’t mattered to her that he was scarred, or not as handsome as some of the others. The real reason she’d liked him had been harder to grasp, before. Since meeting her new family, it seemed clear.

_It was the power he held over ‘em, wasn’t it? Over anyone he met, too. Kelli had some sorta hold over him, but no one else ever told him what to do – or they died tryin’. If I coulda taken him from her, he woulda kept me safe._

Forcing her thoughts away from the woman, she focused on the things Kelli’s man had done. His fingers, tongue – all of him – had made her forget the painful fumbling of her hated father. A low moan escaped her lips as she leaned back on one elbow, her fingers slipping between her legs.

Imagination came alive in the quiet of the place as the sun began to set, but the image of Frankie kept morphing into the hulking figure of her new brother, Thomas. She had seen him once, and only from the back, but already he had become a near mythic person in her mind, from all the tales the family had told of his strength and loyalty.

 _He’s not really my brother … so I could..._ She frowned then at the memory of Momma Hewitt’s words, that her son was like a child. _Maybe he wouldn’t understand?_

She gasped at the sound of a stick in the brush breaking, just beyond the darkening line of trees. Instinct told her to grab the clean clothes, dress, and flee, but she suppressed the urge. If the intruder was an enemy, she’d have heard a motorcycle, even in the distance.

Withdrawing from pleasuring herself, her fingers reached for the clothes slowly, but didn’t lift them from the rock.

 _It has to be him. Uncle Hoyt and Momma both said he watches me._ Sitting up, she called softly, “Hello? Tommy? Please come out, I wanted to meet you.”

Another rustling noise sounded and her searching eyes found the heavy silhouette before it ceased to move. Filling the space between two trees, the shadow stared at her. The right arm seemed abnormally shaped, and too long, as if he held something bulky.

 _The chainsaw? They’ve all said he don’t like to leave it behind._ “I was proud o’ you, today – you and Uncle Hoyt. He told me that you caught the man Kelli was with, and that you killed him. She said it was Tony and I wanted him dead pretty bad – I hope it hurt. If you used that, I guess it must have.”

He made no sound now, though she could still feel his stare. Confused, and wondering if her nudity could upset him, she drew the folded towel and dress into her lap, opening the towel to dry off without looking away.

“You took care of the other two for me, didn’t you … Jim and Rock,” she told him, just to have something to say. “Tommy, if you won’t speak, would you walk back with me? It’s gettin’ late.”

Had the shadow shifted, moved back? Quickly, she pulled the dress over her head and then searched for him again – but the silhouette was gone. Sighing, she gathered her things and stood, moving carefully up the rock face to the bank. Slipping into her sandals, she rolled the towel and dirty dress and tucked them under her arm, her eyes on the trees.

“I won’t hurt you. How could I? You could probly snap me like one o’ those twigs. Tommy?”

Silence surrounded her. Shaking her head, Amarie started back toward the house. The moment she moved, she heard his steps behind her and paused, but didn’t turn. When she stopped, so did he. Smiling, she walked off again, and the heavy footsteps followed.

Careful not to turn her head, she called out, “Thank you, Tommy.”

She was alongside the longer back section of the T-shaped house when his steps ceased. Turning swiftly, she barely saw the movement of the storm doors that she had kicked earlier, as they closed over a large shape.

The temptation to follow was strong, but after a few quick breaths, she continued past the open garage and around to the back door.

Momma Hewitt was working in the large warm kitchen as Amarie entered the room.

“I couldn’t catch you in time, but your uncle went downstairs to fix that pipe. Did you get a good bath anyway?”

“Yes, ma’am, and I had comp’ny – sorta.”

A short laugh announced her uncle’s arrival. He wore his sheriff’s uniform and drank from a small glass bottle. “Water’s back on. Tommy came by at the creek?” he asked, grinning.

Amarie nodded, automatically helping with the dishes as her mother got the water going at the sink. “He wouldn’t come outta the trees, but I could see his shadow. I thought maybe the bathin’ would bother him, so I hurried up with it.”

“No tellin’, honey, but don’t you worry ‘bout a thing – gonna have a talk with him tonight, man to man.”

She didn’t miss the suspicious look her mother gave him, or the fact that she was being dismissed when she was told to go and fetch the remaining dishes from the dining room table. Gathering up a precarious stack of the red and white checkered china plates, she headed back as fast as she dared, hoping to hear their chat. Neither of them spoke softly, though, and their voices came clear through the open door.

“You watch what you say to Tommy, especially ‘bout Amarie,” Momma Hewitt warned, a note of worry in her voice.

“Ain’t got nothin’ to do with my niece, Momma, this is between the men. That nephew o’ mine is overdue for a few lessons; it might could do him some good, too.”

When Amarie returned to the dining room for Mason jar glasses and silverware, toting them back as fast as the last load, both adults fell silent as she entered the kitchen again. Frowning, she watched them leave her.

“Finish up, now, that’s a good girl,” Uncle Hoyt directed her, steering his sister by an elbow to another room.

Amarie gave up on snooping when she saw her uncle wink at her before closing the door to the den. Old Monty had to be in there, too, since she could hear the television going.

In the hall, she paused on her way back to the dining room, and then turned. The metal door to the basement was close by, the tiny round lens in it blank – but she could feel the silent stare that hid behind it.

“Come out … please? I’m lonely.” Neither the door nor the lens moved. Sighing, she went back to toting dishes. _Maybe I could go visit Henrietta tomorrow?_ The temptation to go upstairs and torment Kelli faded as quickly as the impulse to invade the basement. _Is she even still alive? I ain’t heard her scream since before supper._

**************************************************

Luda Mae crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses. “You know that child’s curious ‘bout him –”

“Curiosity’s healthy, Momma, but I done told you, this ain’t ‘bout Amarie.” He approached, hugged her rigid body, and then chuckled as he left the den.

Luda Mae watched him go, a concerned frown on her face. Turning to Monty, she asked, “You dunno what he’s up to?”

“Nope. Don’t care, neither. I don’t get involved with his business.”

Leaving him to his program, she returned to the kitchen. Amarie had finished the dishes, so she allowed the girl to help her make up a plate for Thomas, but declined her offer to take it to him herself.

“Ain’t tryin’ to worry you,” she explained, “but Tommy has to be used to you a lot more. There’s a danger, y’hear? He dunno his own strength, and if you frighten him, he might could hurt you before he knows it. Usually, if he hurts someone, they don’t recover so well, so I’d rather you were less impatient and more cautious.”

Amarie nodded again, but her silence had a touch of resentment in it. “I know I gotta be careful, ma’am, but I only wanna see him – is that so bad?”

“Can you understand that my boy ain’t … handsome? Bein’ seen – it’s not the way to relax him.”

“I don’t care how he looks, Momma.”

“Well, that is a blessin’, child.” Exasperated, she continued, “He’s a good boy, a gentle soul, if you don’t harm his family, but I wonder if your interest is entirely sisterly?”

Amarie looked away with a blush on her cheeks, and Luda Mae sighed. Picking up the hot plate with an oven mitt, she moved away to give her son his supper.

“Go on up and get ready for bed, child.”

“Could I go see Henrietta tomorrow? At her home?”

“Certainly. You could help me at the store, too, if you wanted.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am, I’d like that!” Amarie hugged her before fleeing up the stairs.

~ ~ ~

“I missed you at the supper table, Tommy,” Luda Mae whispered as she watched him eat. “I’m proud o’ you, too – you did a good thing, guardin’ your sister this evenin’.” Pausing a moment, she added, “Did you understand what she was doin’? Washin’ up?”

His nod was hesitant and it made her wonder what else the girl had done, but her chance to ask disappeared when her brother arrived.

Stopping at the first landing, he peered down at them. “Finish that and c’mon up, Tommy. Your sister’s gone to bed now.”

He left with a smirk on his crafty face, knowing he’d be obeyed, no matter what she said. Luda Mae sighed, but didn’t try to confuse Thomas, or make him choose between them.

Taking the plate, she nodded to him. “Go on.”

~ ~ ~

The ragged screams cut across her sleep. Luda Mae grunted and started to curse Charlie under her breath. Uncle Monty wasn’t yelling at him to shut the woman up yet, but since they’d moved his bedroom downstairs, he might be able to sleep through it.

 _Wish I could,_ she thought, a growl on her lips. _He’ll wake Amarie, if he hasn’t already. Is he tired o’ his trollop so soon? He must have asked Tommy upstairs to finish her off the way he likes._ Frowning, she muttered, “They better not ruin those bedclothes again.”

In the act of pulling a pillow over her head, knowing the chainsaw was coming shortly, she froze as her brother’s voice spoke from the bedroom across the hall. The words were instructions, but not orders to kill.

“Now, you use the same thing you piss with, but you don’t pee in the woman. See, here? That’s the sweet spot; all you gotta do is stick it in. Hell, if you get that far, nature oughta take over, even for you. Pay attention, Tommy, I’m tryin’ to teach you somethin’ good.”

Disgust and concern filled her as she rose, yanking her bathrobe on over her nightgown. Marching across to his door, Luda Mae pushed it open so hard it struck the opposite wall and shuddered there.

Thomas sank down when she entered, a guttural moan escaping his lips. Charlie was kneeling on the bed, still in his uniform. His fingers left the woman’s body as she screamed again.

“Well, hello, Momma. Did we wake you?”

“What do you think you’re doin’ to my boy?”

“Nothin’, so far, he won’t come near the wretched thing.”

“Please,” the woman begged, coughing. “Please kill me. Don’t let that … sick animal touch me...”

Outraged, Charlie cuffed her hard enough to throw her head back. “You shut your cocksucker, you dirty bitch! That’s my nephew, and you’ll learn respect!”

Luda Mae frowned at them both and turned to her son. “Thomas Brown Hewitt, you go downstairs right now, y’hear me? Get outta here, and I’ll come and talk to you.”

Before he could get up, Charlie had left the bed to block the door, moving Luda Mae backward out of his room. Over his shoulder, he ordered, “Stay put, boy, I ain’t done with you.”

She glared at him as he faced her, but the look in his eye told her instantly that she couldn’t win.

“Charlie, please, you’re confusin’ him –”

“It’s ‘Sheriff Hoyt’, damn it, I done told you – Charlie’s dead. Go on back to bed and I’ll see to it she don’t yell curses no more, or anythin’ else, for that matter.”

“Tommy cain’t understand; you’ll upset him!”

“That’s the whole point, woman – to make him understand. You think this ain’t what Amarie’s thinkin’ ‘bout? Ask her. I didn’t have to.”

“You said this had nothin’ to do with Amarie!”

“Well, I lied, cuz I knew you’d fuss. Now go on, and lemme play matchmaker. Dealin’ with him is hard work, ain’t it? The girl’s gotta have a good reason to stick ‘round and do that, I figure. Since raisin’ her to take care o’ him was your idea, you lemme get on with mine – teachin’ him to help her enjoy it.”

He never touched her, but each step forward pushed her back into the center of the hall. She looked in his eyes for only a moment, and then looked away. “Please don’t frighten my boy...”

“I’m tryin’ not to, Momma. You just go on back to sleep now and lemme get to it.” He turned away and addressed his nephew again. “I see you didn’t bring your knife. Here’s mine. Go take the whore’s tongue out – you’re good at that. Don’t damage anythin’ else just yet, neither. I gotta better idea how to teach you.”

Luda Mae held herself tightly as her brother shut the door.

“Momma? Is everythin’ all right?”

Startling, she looked down the hall to see Amarie leaning out of her door. “It’s fine, child, go back to bed.” Returning to her own room, she muttered, “Don’t frighten him... My poor boy...”

**************************************************

The knife nicked the corner of the mouth, but his uncle didn’t scold him for it. Holding up the blade and the tongue, blood ran from both over his hands as he offered them up.

Taking the knife and wiping it on the woman’s thigh, the older man smiled. “You can have that. I know I pulled you from your supper a bit early.”

He wasn’t hungry and it would be unpleasant raw, but his uncle’s eyes were watching – judging him. With two fingers, he put it in his mouth through the gash in the mask and swallowed it whole as quickly as he could.

“Ha ha, good boy. Not too different from sushi, though you wouldn’t know that. Oh, shut the fuck up,” he added to his captive. “What’s the use o’ moanin’ ‘bout it now? Maybe if you hadn’t called him names, things would be different. Anythin’ else you’d rather we cut off before we play with it?” When she fell silent, he laughed again. “That’s right – done told you that you’d learn respect.”

Thomas immediately backed away from her again, flinching when his uncle chastised him.

“Damn it, Tommy, if you’d just trust me, you could have a lot more fun in life. Amarie, she wants to play with you – but you won’t face her to try just yet, so here we are. I figure all you need is a little...You listenin’ to me, Thomas? Ah, shit, fine – show and tell it is. Listen up, boy – this is for you, so you’ll watch and learn, okay? Anythin’ you don’t understand, I’ll explain at the end, but you got all the same parts and any other female’s got her parts, too. The rest is just like learnin’ to butcher meat – there’s a process, and when you get it right, you’ll like the results.”

He didn’t dare turn away as his uncle dropped his pants and lay down on the sluggishly struggling body. Pressing his back against the wall, his palms left bloody streaks on the wallpaper before his hands balled into fists.

Other people not of his family either never touched him, or did so only to hurt him. To touch them like that – the thought of it made his stomach cramp. Why did his uncle want him to have this touch with the girl? They’d all told him not to hurt her.

The movement looked like they were wrestling, fighting. The woman wept as his uncle bit her, but was he trying to eat? She moaned if he hit her, but then he cried out, a shout of surprise, or maybe pain? Had the woman attacked him?

Instantly angry in spite of his fear, Thomas growled low and crossed the room in two strides. He grabbed the woman’s head in one hand and started to squeeze.

“Hang on, Tommy!”

Confused, he stopped, but did not let go.

“You think I got hurt?” Shaking his head, his uncle sighed. His body ceased moving and lay still. “That was cuz it felt good, boy. You’ll see when you try it, now let go, or you’ll pop her.”

Thomas released the head, glaring down at the wet eyes that stared up at him in terror. She was trying not to choke on her own blood, and seeing that, he didn’t regret eating her tongue anymore.

“Tommy, you poor confused bastard, you just wait. When you find out for yourself, the world’s gonna get a little bit brighter. For now, just trust me on this – fuckin’ feels as good as killin’ – in its way.”

Reluctantly watching as his uncle’s body slipped out of the woman’s, slick with blood and some nameless milky fluid, he couldn’t repress a shudder – but he did want to trust.

_Could it be like the blade? Just ‘nother kind o’ pain that gives pleasure?_


	6. Family

**Deputy Hadley:** I never knew the patriarch o’ the family. He survived World War II, county records gave me that, along with a few facts on Charlie Hewitt’s time over in Korea. The father died while his son was MIA and the mother put the house and land in Luda Mae’s name. Rumors in the town never made sense after Charlie came home, but everyone agreed on one thing: he came back stronger, meaner, and crazier than he was when he joined up. The mother got sick, didn’t survive the followin’ winter. After that, the younger Hewitts ran the place.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** I thought you said they had an uncle, their father’s brother?

 **Deputy Hadley:** ‘Old Monty’ we called him. That one rarely left that house and he was never an influential figure. No sir, it was Charlie at the wheel, and Luda Mae let him have it, for all I ever heard.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Is she the biological mother of Thomas? Who is the father?

 **Deputy Hadley:** Sorry, Doc – that’s a secret I guess only they’d know. People say he was born in August o’ 1939, but his family never put no proper paperwork in on him, and no hospital ‘round has a record o’ that birth, that I ever found. If they gave a scrap o’ paper to the school to admit him, I never heard o’ that, neither, but that was the 1940s, and the school burned down back in 1955. If you want my gut, I’d say she found him. Town gossips used to whisper ‘bout that at least, that no one was sure Luda Mae had ever been pregnant. If anyone knew the truth, you wouldn’t find ‘em now; they all scattered when the town went belly up last year.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** I understand that the area is overrun with motorcycle gangs these days. That type moves through rather than makes camp, but I wonder if an empty town could tempt them to take root – for plunder, at least.

 **Deputy Hadley:** That’s what I been sayin’ since I walked into your office, Doc: that town ain’t empty. If they got any sense, cutthroats or not, they won’t stop no longer than it takes to have a piss. As for tryin’ to take anythin’ that belongs to the Hewitt clan, well, Hell might could help ‘em, but God won’t waste His time.

**************************************************

Amarie quickly regretted refusing her Uncle Hoyt’s offer to fetch her home from Henrietta and Wilma’s trailer.

She knew his patrol car couldn’t have driven even half the way into the woods, and hadn’t wanted to make him walk so much to escort her when she could just walk back herself so easily. However, she’d forgotten in her relaxed enjoyment of her new life that she had enemies.

Four of them now blocked her way home. _They ain’t seen or heard me yet – but they’re sure to the minute I move, in any direction._

The sun had sunk below the treetops, leaving her in a thick darkness, and no one would be wondering yet where she was.

 _Maybe I should just stand here ‘til they start to wonder?_ She was dressed only in a cotton sundress and sandals, but she didn’t feel chilled; the August night was warm. _Now would be a perfect time for Tommy to be followin’ me._

Mere feet away, a man named Brand tried to start a fire, but his lighter wouldn’t work. The others, all men she knew well, began to tease him.

“Somebody hand him some rocks,” Will joked. “I heard cavemen can make fire with rocks.”

“Smart cavemen, maybe,” Sly retorted.

Frustrated, Brand swore. “Gimme your lighter, Tom.”

Stretched out on the ground beside his bike, the blonde named Tom opened his eyes. Amarie watched as the leader of the scouting party glared at his younger companion.

“A fire ain’t in our best interest, kid. Lay chilly – we’ll get the drop on the hillbillies at dawn.”

“We shoulda heard from Kelli and Tony by now, Tom. Somethin’ happened.” Sly began to pick his teeth with a twig, pretending he wasn’t afraid, but if something had happened to Kelli, they’d all be in trouble with their leader.

 _Get ready for that,_ Amarie thought. _She ain’t all she used to be by now._

“I didn’t push my damn bike damn near two miles to wreck our surprise, you moron – not for your yellow-ass fears, and not for nature boy’s fire, neither. Sit your asses down and wait – like I fuckin’ told you. There’s moonlight ‘nuff to see by, you pussies.”

The other three obeyed instantly, keeping their grumbles to themselves – but their fear of Tom, and his obvious sway over them all gave Amarie an idea. It was dangerous, but her uncle had told her over and over that the more insane the plan, the less an opponent was likely to have a response to it quick enough to save them.

As silently as she could, she slipped off her sandals and hung them from her arm by the heel straps. Moving around them until she faced the direction home was in, she almost dared to hope she could abandon her mad scheme and simply slip away. Seconds later, her foot found a branch, and as it turned, it rustled the leaves beneath it.

“What was that?” Tom asked, instantly alert.

Amarie took a deep breath and screamed. The cry, mere feet away, shocked them all. They stood and pinpointed her shadow immediately, their hands reaching for blades and guns.

Before any of them could speak, Amarie faced Tom and screamed, “Tommy! Help me, please!”

“Holy shit!”

“Where’d the little bitch come from?”

“Didn’t hear a damn thing!”

Tom, the only one who hadn’t spoken, grabbed her as she stumbled up to him. “Shut the hell up,” he ordered. “What’s your game?”

“I’m tryin’ to escape, but I think they’re after me. I heard y’all talkin’, recognized your voices… Oh, God, please help me, Tom. They’re comin’!”

“Who is?”

“Those … people...” Thinking of how Kelli had done so, she shuddered in disgust. “They got Kelli, and they killed Tony! Rock and Jim, too – I think they had to o’ killed ‘em the day they got me. Please… I wanna go back to Frankie. I have to tell him … ‘bout Kelli...”

“What are we gonna do?” Sly asked. His dirty face had gone pale.

Tom ignored them all. Shaking her slightly, his fingers dug into her upper arms. “You better not be lyin’ to me. Where are they keepin’ Kelli?”

“At that big estate house – she’s upstairs. I ain’t seen her since yesterday, though, they kept me in the basement. I got out through the storm doors. Where’s Frankie?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout Frankie. Brand, Will – watch her. Sly, you’re with me.” Tom passed her to Brand. Looking them over, he added, “Don’t touch her. If Kelli’s dead, Frankie’ll want her.”

Amarie pretended to buckle, and her guards allowed her to drop to her knees. Standing over her, they both watched the other two men slip away into the dark woods toward the house.

A hand on her shoulder made her look up to see Will. The expression on his face told her he was thinking about disobeying orders.

“What do you think, Brand? A quick ride each? She won’t tell. Will you?” A silver blade flashed before her eyes. “If we gotta, we can say you tried to run and we had to cut you. Right? Or, you can play along – nicer for you that way.”

Amarie smiled. She had already seen the night move behind him and knew that her call for help had reached the right ears. “I can play along,” she whispered, but neither man heard her words.

The chainsaw motor split the darkness as the roaring blade descended, severing the arm of the hand that had touched her.

Amarie made no sound as her brother Thomas stepped over her to advance on Brand. Almost too late, she twisted and kicked out at Will’s remaining hand, sending his knife flying into the trees even as Brand’s screams filled her ears.

She turned back in time to see Brand fall, headless, to the ground. Thomas spun around toward the wounded man, and Amarie gasped at the sight of him.

_It’s a mask – a leather mask – no… it’s a face!_

Shaking her head almost violently, she forced herself to look away and deal with the others. Will had rolled toward her, his hand grasping her ankle. She started to kick at it, but then the giant blade came down and removed it from the arm. Lifting, swinging, it found the man’s shoulder and bit in deep.

Amarie scrambled away, watching in fascination as her brother’s heavy frame leaned into his work, using his shocking strength to help the chainsaw push diagonally into the man’s torso, through bone and spraying meat.

She screamed when the shadows jumped at him, the moonlight over the clearing showing her Tom at his broad back and Sly leaping in on the right. A gun fired, and Amarie screamed again, afraid her brother had been hit, but the bullets cracked into woods beyond him.

Sly was the next to fall, and Amarie wasn’t sure that Thomas even saw him as the blade carved him in half at the waist when he turned. The man behind Sly had been his target, but Tom dodged back, throwing his knife as the behemoth whirled.

“No!” Amarie struggled to stand, horrified to see the blade sink to the hilt in her brother’s back.

His guttural roar of pain made her wince, but the wild swing of the chainsaw drove her backward.

A breath later, she saw Tom turn and run toward her, heading for the four motorcycles. She didn’t dodge when he reached out to shove her down onto her back, but instantly brought her legs up to trip him, shouting in triumph when he hit the ground on his stomach.

Tom grunted when a weight pressed down on his back, pinning him. His hands groped at the boot, until the chainsaw blade came down between his kicking legs. Twitching and writhing in time with the man’s screams, both body and voice would soon be stilled.

Refusing to look away from it, Amarie’s face was splattered with blood as Thomas dragged the roaring blade through her enemy’s crotch and yanked it out through the intestines. When the blade was free, he stopped it, and the night grew quiet again.

Amarie shoved her sandals back onto her feet and rose quickly on shaking limbs to face him. “You’re hurt, Tommy … will you lemme help you?”

The strange mask tilted as he moved his head to look at her. Dark eyes she wished she could see better studied her in silence. Then he leaned down to pick up Sly’s top end, growling as the knife in his back moved.

“Leave ‘em, we can clean ‘em up later. Tommy – lemme see your back.”

Whether he was listening to her request or just avoiding her gaze, he dropped Sly’s arm and turned away from her, standing stiffly with his arms at his sides. Aware of the brutal weapon in his right hand, she approached on his left, but her fingers could barely reach the knife hilt protruding from behind his right shoulder.

“I might be able to pull it if you bent down, but maybe we shouldn’t do that just yet. It’s a long walk home, and you’d lose a lot o’ blood. Can you walk with it where it is? We’ll get Momma to help, and Uncle Hoyt. Okay? You should carry that in your other hand, though.”

He made no outward sign that he either heard or understood, but then he did transfer the heavy chainsaw to his other hand. Encouraged and greatly daring, she moved behind him and tried to clasp his free hand, but he pulled it back from her abruptly and shied away.

“I’m sorry… Well, I’ll just walk with you, then. I’ll tell ‘em all how brave you were, and how you saved me, too.”

~ ~ ~

Moving through the woods and then across one of the back fields, she almost headed into a fenced area on the right side of the house. Thomas stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and shook his head when she looked back at him. When he saw that she understood, he drew his hand back.

“Not safe that way, huh? Okay, you’re the leader.” As soon as the lights of the house could be seen beyond the posts and lines of hanging sheets, she bounced a few paces ahead of him again, excited and impatient. “Momma! Uncle Hoyt! Come quick, Tommy’s hurt!”

Her cry got an immediate response in the form of her uncle appearing from inside the open garage. His shotgun was ready, but when he saw only the pair of them, he leaned it against the wall and came out to meet them.

“Heard all the ruckus, but then it sounded like Tommy had it in hand. What happened, honey?”

“I was walkin’ home in the woods when I heard ‘em – four o’ ‘em. They said they had pushed their motorcycles for two miles to try and surprise someone, probly plannin’ to attack the house. I knew I couldn’t get ‘round ‘em without ‘em hearin’ me, so I pretended I was runnin’ from here, and screamed for Tommy to help. They thought I meant Tom – their leader, so they weren’t lookin’ ‘round when he found us. Then he just started carvin’ ‘em up – but Tom stabbed him, Uncle Hoyt, and I was scared to pull the knife out, what with the walk home bein’ a long one.”

“You did right then, Amarie. C’mon into the kitchen, Tommy, and we’ll fix you up.” As he started to pass by, the sheriff took the chainsaw in both hands. “I’ll take your little buddy, you go on in. Momma won’t want you to leave the thing on her countertops, anyhow.”

Amarie opened the kitchen door for her brother and then followed him in, biting her lip as she saw the wide line of red blood soaking his shirt. It dripped from the edge of the sleeve to run down the back of his arm.

“Oh, lord, what happened?” Momma asked, but she already had all manner of first aid implements spread out on the small kitchen table. “Sit down here, Tommy.”

As he sat at one end of the table, Amarie repeated her story again. Uncle Hoyt had carried the chainsaw behind her and left the kitchen with it. By the time he returned without it, Amarie had finished speaking.

Thomas watched their uncle closely, nervously. Finally, the old man grumbled at him, “I put it on your work table. When you’re patched, you can deal with it, but leave the clean up to me, y’hear? That’s a bad wound you got.”

“Such a shame,” Momma muttered as she took a big pair of metal scissors to her son’s shirt. She had untied the leather butcher’s apron and the loose and haggard tie he wore with the shirt, handing the items to Amarie. “Lay all that over the other chair, child, I may need your help some more yet.”

Nodding as she obeyed, Amarie whispered, “I can bring down the other shirt for him.”

“That’ll be fine, but wait a moment.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She watched in silence as the scissors worked, baring a broad back that was crisscrossed with scars.

One of the worst of them was almost a match for the new wound, though it looked old. It had to be from another knife, which had struck just inside the left shoulder blade. The ridged pattern of the terrible scar drew her closer.

**************************************************

Luda Mae called her brother over and then spoke to Amarie at her side. “Move back a bit, now. This’ll hurt him and we never know how he’ll take it, or which direction he might could go in.”

Charlie placed his forearm on his nephew’s right shoulder, and one hand on the thick hair on his head. When he nodded to her, Luda Mae gripped the handle of the knife and yanked the two inch blade free.

Thomas roared in pain, surging upward fast. He pulled Charlie off of his feet for a moment, but the whip-crack voice of the Army man controlled him better and faster than any use of force could.

“Sit your arse down, damn it, we’re tryin’ to help you! Don’t you bleed all over Momma’s kitchen, neither, or you’ll make her mad!”

The huge body dropped back into the little chair, making the wood creak. He hung his head and moaned low as they worked, but didn’t offer to fight them anymore.

Amarie watched as their hands moved over the bowed back. Her eyes were fixed again on the old knife wound.

“Go ahead,” Luda Mae whispered. “He won’t hardly notice, now.”

Her slender fingers touched the pale skin around the scar first, and when Thomas didn’t react, they stroked slowly down the length of the ridged and puckered mark. “Someone else hurt him?”

“A damn waste who shouldn’t never got so close,” Charlie answered. “Tommy can be sneaky when he’s thinkin’ straight, but when he lets the red rage take him over, well – you’d barely know the boy had a brain to work with.”

“What’s this?” Her fingers had moved under the mask’s ponytail to trace a mottled line that ran up the side of his neck until it disappeared in the thatch of his real hair. The thick neck and shoulders shuddered at the touch, and she quickly took her hand away.

“Those damn spots – they appear wherever he’s been exposed to the sun for too long, far as I can tell,” Luda Mae responded as she worked. “I guess I need to mend his shirts better. Hush now, and be ready if I need you.”

Cleaning the wound and applying a pressure bandage was easier now that her son was keeping still. She glanced at Amarie only once more before she started covering the inch and a half long gash. The girl had ventured to touch Thomas again, on the old scar that hadn’t healed as well as she hoped this one might.

 _How concerned she is,_ she thought, smiling slightly as she began securing the bandage with black electrical tape. _She told the truth ‘bout not carin’ how my boy looks, too – at least, the mask hasn’t shocked her too bad. There may be hope yet, at that._

“Ain’t you gonna stitch it up, ma’am?” the girl asked.

“Better to let ‘em heal from the inside out, hon,” her uncle replied. “We’ll change it often, try to make him keep it clean.”

_~ ~ ~_

The last of four motorcycles found its resting place behind the battered and windowless remains of an old jeep. The weeds were high and almost hid them all.

Luda Mae watched as her brother finished siphoning the gasoline out of the last tank as he had done with the others. He’d add it to the gas tank of the patrol car, but she didn’t intend to stick around for that.

“How did your lessons go?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

Charlie eyed her a moment in silence, spit into the grass, and then smiled. “Fair, I ‘spose, but he’s gotta lot to work on. Why?”

“I can see the wisdom o’ it, I guess. I just hope he understands and don’t get the wrong idea, or the right idea with a twist. Either way, he could end all our efforts quick if anythin’ goes wrong.”

“We’ll keep an eye on him. I’m more concerned ‘bout these hippie bikers. Amarie said her original count didn’t include the women, but even so, that still leaves five o’ those boys out there somewhere, and eight fillies. Ten to one, only the boys’ll come after us, but we cain’t rule out love sweet love – if any o’ ‘em actually give a damn ‘bout their men, that is. Still, a biker bitch is more likely to gut you in your sleep than any other kind, so we should be keepin’ our eyes peeled, Momma.”

“Hopefully they’ll keep comin’ in waves – it gives Tommy plenty o’ time to get their friends in the freezer.”

“How’s that wound comin’?”

“Just fine. I had to order him upstairs for it, but I’m lettin’ Amarie change the bandages. I explained all I could ‘bout his masks, too, though she don’t seem bothered by ‘em a bit.”

“She’s tough,” he said with pride, and turned away from her.

Luda Mae smiled as her brother walked away, the rusty gas can in one strong hand, and the bit of black hose in the other.

She moved slowly on the walk back to the house, enjoying the cooler air of the late morning. Soon enough, it’d be too hot to breathe outdoors.

Amarie greeted her warmly from her seat at the kitchen table. Luda Mae took a chair next to her and observed the mending of her son’s shirt with a judicious eye.

Thomas was still in the room, sitting on the floor with his lower back pressed against the refrigerator, exactly as she’d left him.

He almost didn’t fit in the space between appliance and counter, but seemed determined to be as unnoticed as the rest of the furniture. His forehead was pressed onto his raised knees, his thick arms wrapped around his legs to hide his face – but he had managed to not muss his fresh bandages.

Looking back at Amarie, she found the girl’s eyes on Thomas, too, her fingers motionless.

Trying to see him as the young woman must, Luda Mae studied the heavy muscles of his arms, neck, and back. His stomach was far from the flat rippling planes of those foolish teens that kept running afoul of her brother, but she knew her son’s paunch was tough, too, thick and hard. He’d taken more than one punch or kick there, without a wince.

“You really think my boy is nice?” she asked.

Amarie nodded in a daze. Shaking her head abruptly, she blushed when she met Luda Mae’s eyes and got back to her sewing. “He’s amazin’,” she said, her words quick and quiet. “I keep thinkin’ ‘bout the first time I saw his face – how… majestic and powerful he looked, comin’ outta the trees like one o’ ‘em Bible demons. I dunno how y’all ever thought he’d frighten me. He’s the most stunnin’ person I ever saw.”

“Past experience sometimes colors the mind against new experience,” she answered. “My mother used to tell me that.”

“And now my mother tells me the same,” the girl answered with a shy smile. Glancing back down at the shirt in her hands, she added, “I been singin’ that song o’ yours, ‘bout the mockin’bird. I hope he likes it.”

“I imagine he does, child.”

“He’s still afraid o’ me, even if he does watch me and follow me ‘round. If you hadn’t made him come upstairs, he wouldn’t have.”

Luda Mae studied her in silence for a moment. _Maybe it’s time,_ she thought. _She’s earned it._ “He’ll trust you when he knows you’re really one o’ us. There’s … a lot … we ain’t yet told you ‘bout our family. We wanted to wait, to see how you adjusted, how things went – but I think you done proven yourself just fine, at least for some secrets.”

“It’s not just Tommy I want to be at ease ‘round me, Momma. I figured you’d explain other things when you were ready.”

“Well, maybe I am, at least for my part of it. We’d been poor before, but everythin’ changed when the town o’ Fuller died...” Luda Mae sighed, remembering better times. “We had a drought in 1968 that lasted into 1969, and that was the beginnin’ o’ the end. Cattle got sick, people that ate ‘em got sick, so they closed the Lee Brothers slaughterhouse down, June 9, 1969, and the town couldn’t survive without it. Tommy worked there, your uncle taught him how, but they let him go; there were hundreds outta work. There weren’t no jobs and people that had tried to stay didn’t. By July that year, it was us and Wilma’s family, close kin to ours; the rest left, or were ‘bout to. We weren’t sure how we were gonna survive, or how we’d eat. Drought killed the crops, couldn’t raise goats no more – we ate the ones we had left, and that was that. Then things finally started to turn ‘round for the better.”

“You got the garden now, two wells here at home, and you run the Cele store, but I never could figure out some things. The electricity works, for one, and the phones.”

“That’s Charlie’s doin’ – Sheriff Hoyt, that is. The generator out back keeps the power on, and he rigged that up. If you never seen one, it’s that noisy metal box on the ground.”

“The store has one, so does Henrietta’s trailer. I heard ‘em, but didn’t know what they were.”

“We try to use things sparingly, mostly; never know when the fuel will run out for the generators, or the patrol car, for one. Daylight serves, and oil for the lamps, got lotsa that. Still, none o’ us ever wanted to leave the home o’ our birth; so we adapted, made do, and sometimes, we just do what we gotta, and that’s it.”

“Uncle Hoyt ain’t drivin’ to the next town for meat, is he?”

They stared at each other for a long time before Luda Mae answered, but when she did, she’d already seen acceptance in the girl’s eyes.

“He ain’t never had to range so far. We don’t get many travelers and most are this motorcycle scum. I used to worry ‘bout it, but Charlie was right – no one’s ever come lookin’ for ‘em, or cared that they were gone.”

“What ‘bout Tommy? He catches ‘em, too, and then...You said that Uncle Hoyt taught him to work at the slaughterhouse, before.” Amarie nodded then, slowly. “I see.”

“It was the only way, child.”

“No, I understand, I do. I was just thinkin’ o’ somethin’ Uncle Hoyt told Tommy after he drove in with those fools from the woods. He slapped him on the back and told him to ‘get to work’, and then he said, ‘meat is meat, and bone is bone’. He laughed ‘bout it, and I had the feelin’ it was somethin’ he says to Tommy often.” Amarie smiled, pleased with herself. “I understand it now.”

“Wilma and Henrietta know, cuz they share in it, but no else can –”

“Momma, don’t worry – it’s fine. No, it’s perfect, and they don’t deserve no better.”

Luda Mae felt a knot in her stomach unravel. She hadn’t even realized that her hands were shaking. Reaching for her cigarettes and gold lighter, she rose. Bending down, she embraced the girl who had truly become her daughter. Unable to speak, she went out through the house to relax on the front porch and smoke.

Behind her, Amarie’s sweet voice rose, singing the verses Luda Mae had once crooned over Thomas when he was a baby. Tears came to her eyes, and for once, she let them fall.

**************************************************

With his eyes closed tightly, the voice took on a life of its own, weaving a nameless comfort. The words were familiar, sparking dim memories of warmth and food, erasing cold, hunger, and pain.

He began to rock his body slightly from side to side, releasing his breath more slowly as the voice calmed him, nearly pulling him into sleep where he sat.

“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word, Momma’s gonna buy you a mockin’bird. If that mockin’bird won’t sing, Momma’s gonna buy you a golden ring...”

Someone touched him, but it was a gentle, familiar touch, one that brought no pain.

“Tommy? I finished your shirt.”

His eyes opened as his body stiffened. Head lifting, he was shocked to see the girl sitting on the floor beside him, close. She moved slowly, her fingers rising to touch his face. Turning it into his shoulder, he tried to hide it against the wall, but the fingers touched him anyway, gently pulling at his chin. Hands fisting, his arms flexed.

_Don’t hurt, don’t hurt, they’ll be angry, don’t..._

“I won’t hurt you. I just want to see your eyes. Tommy, please look at me. I’ll be good to you, I promise.”

She wasn’t strong enough to make him move, but like his uncle, her voice held power. It was a gentle power, more like Momma, able to urge and soothe.

 _Try try try. Don’t hurt._ A low whine broke from his lips, but he allowed the fingers to turn his head. Expecting her face to twist with loathing and fear, he was startled to see her hesitant smile.

“Oh, they’re lovely, Tommy – so dark, but full o’ feelin’.”

The fingers moved to stroke the cheek of the mask, but his hand lifted and snatched the wrist, holding it away from him.

“Okay, okay, I won’t touch it; I’m sorry, but … you’re hurtin’ me...”

He released her instantly, seeing the flash of white on the skin of the wrist before the marks of his fingers colored in. _It’ll bruise and they’ll be angry..._ Frightened, he almost hid his face again, until his uncle’s confusing lesson intruded in his mind. _She wants to ‘play’... What is it, the strange fightin’ touch?_

Meeting her gaze reluctantly, his hand lifted slowly. When she didn’t flinch, he did what she had wanted to do to him, brushing his dark fingertips down the side of her face.


	7. The Basement

**Deputy Hadley:** I wasn’t in the same grade with him, he was ahead o’ me by two years, but most o’ us saw the other kids tormentin’ him at one time or ‘nother. My older brother was one o’ ‘em doin’ it.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Could I perhaps speak to him? He might be able to tell me a lot.

 **Deputy Hadley:** Nope, sorry, Doc. Daniel died when he was fifteen – in the school fire. Our folks always said he was in the library studyin’, but I knew different. Dan had a girl, and they used to break into the school to fool ‘round. The girl died, too.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** I’m sorry, David.

 **Deputy Hadley:** You couldn’t know, it’s okay. Sheriff Hoyt always suspected Thomas Hewitt set that fire, but he couldn’t prove it.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Do you think he did it?

 **Deputy Hadley:** Hell, I dunno – probly.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** You never felt a need for revenge, for your brother’s death?

 **Deputy Hadley:** Dan was a jackass. Most o’ the time, he wasn’t any nicer to me than he was to that retarded hulk. After some o’ the shit his girl and him and all o’ their friends used to do to Hewitt, I remember feelin’ amazed that he didn’t burn the place down durin’ the day, to pay ‘em all back.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** You called him ‘retarded’ – was there any proof of his mental capacity?

 **Deputy Hadley:** I doubt it; that was just what we all assumed. My guess was, he never knew how to bathe, and his face was a horror; they said it was a skin disease. Dan said he’d seen him cut himself once, too, and it didn’t even seem to hurt him. The boy was a freak, and the man’s become a homicidal freak. I’m not sure any o’ us cared back then if he had a workin’ brain or not, tell you the truth.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Yet your personal opinion would be…?

 **Deputy Hadley:** I don’t think he really was retarded. He’d get a look in his eyes sometimes, and you could see he was thinkin’ in there, workin’ shit out, but I ain’t never seen such eyes, before or since. You called ‘em the ‘windows to the soul’ – well, I ain’t convinced he ever had one.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** There could be many explanations for his mental state. Without proper diagnosis and study, we may never know for certain, but perhaps one possibility is that Hewitt might suffer from borderline personality disorder, with a co-morbid manifestation of social phobia. This combination of maladies could certainly create behavior of the sort you describe.

 **Deputy Hadley:** Would it make a man allow himself to be treated like an animal for years, before burnin’ down a school outta the blue, and then hidin’ away in a basement for over a decade, doin’ God knows what?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Without a doubt.

**************************************************

Amarie forced herself to relax and breathe normally as his fingertips barely brushed her cheek. Uncle Hoyt had told her that holding her breath and tensing her body could be interpreted by his nephew as fear – which would either drive him away or make him hostile. She had tried to explain that she did those things when she was excited too, but he had lectured that Thomas wouldn’t know the difference.

When he dropped his hand, he immediately began to pull away again but since she hadn’t moved, he was trapped between the refrigerator, wall, and counter.

They both flinched when the kitchen door opened on the other side of the refrigerator and their uncle entered, clicking his tongue when he saw them.

“Not the best way to go ‘bout things, honey; you’re the easiest obstacle to move, cornerin’ him like that.”

“I was tryin’ to tell him his shirt’s ready.”

“Coulda done that from the table, couldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” she muttered. Rising reluctantly, she returned to the table, eyes downcast.

“Here, lemme help you. Thomas, come over here and sit down.” He pulled out the chair nearest to his nephew.

Amarie took in every inch of him as he struggled up out of the narrow space and moved slowly to obey, his head down. As it had before, the wooden chair creaked when he sat on it. His large hands were fisted on his thighs, his shoulders hunched.

For the first time, looking back at his fists, she realized he was wearing three gold rings on his left hand. Two were on the pinkie, and the other, with a large ruby set in it, adorned the first finger of the hand. That one she recognized–it had belonged to her tormentor Rock.

Dazed, she started to pick up the shirt, but her uncle stopped her. “Cain’t I help put it on him?”

“Sure, honey, but I had an idea after breakfast, and I think you’ll like it.” He picked up a bottle from the counter by the sink. It was glass, and a dark, yellow-brown liquid almost filled it. Unscrewing the black plastic cap, he set both on the table beside Amarie, and then fetched a dry hand towel from the stove.

“What is it?”

“Iodine. Tommy’s gotta bad habit o’ takin’ a blade to himself, and we’ve all but given up tryin’ to make him quit. He’s done it since he was little, and you’d have to sit on the boy ‘round the clock to stop him. As you might imagine, that’s gotten impractical, nowadays. He usually manages to keep it shallow, where it don’t need stitchin’. Since you’re helpin’ with the doctorin’, you can put a bit o’ that on the cuts as they show up.”

Standing where she was and looking at his back, the maze of scars was daunting. “Where on earth do I start?”

“That’s all old, nothin’ we can do ‘bout that – but he’s gotta few short fresh ones on his chest, and looks like a long one there, on the side o’ his belly. Sit up, Thomas, scoot that chair back more, and behave,” he added. “Your sister’s gonna keep those from gettin’ infected, and you’re goin’ to let her.” Glancing back at Amarie, he winked at her. “Have at it.”

She was grateful that he remained to watch soon enough. More than once, she wondered if Thomas might have either bulled his way out of the kitchen or tried to hurt her. She dabbed the liquid over the cuts, leaving them coated with yellow stains on his skin. Without fail, he winced and trembled each time she touched him, and now and then he growled at her, too.

Uncle Hoyt would chastise him if he fidgeted too much or started to rise, and after a while, he seemed to give up, slumping in surrender to what they wanted.

“That’s it,” the old man told him, his tone more soothing. “Might as well let it happen, Tommy; anyway, it’s good for you.” Turning to Amarie, he grinned at her. “Now’s the time if you wanna explore a bit; he’s docile ‘nuff for the moment. Just leave his mask alone, mind.”

She didn’t ask what he meant, or try to pretend it wasn’t what she wanted. Her uncle valued honesty in others, and was good at telling when he wasn’t getting it. She sat on the chair next to her brother, facing him. Taking a deep breath, she let it out again, slowly.

Using a corner of the towel at first to wipe away any excess fluid, she soon allowed her fingers to touch him more than the towel, until it finally dropped to her lap.

Running her hands over his heavy chest, arms, and stomach, and then moving back up to the powerful shoulders, Amarie allowed only her eyes to travel beyond the thick brown cowhide belt he wore. Her fingers wanted to follow her gaze, but she didn’t dare do that under the watchful eyes of the sheriff.

She worked on not holding her breath throughout her explorations, blushing when she felt moisture between her legs. Belatedly, she tried to find something less carnal to think about.

The skin of his body was pale, and not as speckled with dark spots as his arms, neck and hands. She didn’t know if his fingertips were darkened by the same skin condition, or just from the grime of his work.

Beneath her hands, his body trembled, and she started to feel guilty, worrying that they were pushing him too far.

“Maybe that’s ‘nuff, for now – he’s shakin’.”

“I expect you done a good ‘nuff job,” Uncle Hoyt answered, smiling. “Let’s get him into his shirt and set him loose.”

Thomas remained obedient, but the slumped posture of defeat had alchemized into a coiled impatience. The instant they got the shirt on, he began to rise. Uncle Hoyt grabbed Amarie’s shoulders, pulling her back before she could move to fasten the buttons.

“But –” Even as she spoke, her brother was gone, the metal basement door crashing shut.

“Worry ‘bout that later, honey. The trick to makin’ him do somethin’ he don’t wanna do is to know when to stop makin’ him – it keeps the illusion o’ who’s in charge intact ‘round here.”

Amarie faced him, blinking in surprise. “You are.”

“Well, yeah, but you gotta understand our methods o’ dealin’ with Thomas. He’s bigger and stronger than any o’ us, but there’s a lot he cain’t do for himself. He knows that, and he knows we know what’s best for him, and for the family. So he don’t go against what we say, in general. The boy has his limits, though, and it’s best not to stretch ‘em.”

“He always obeys you, and Momma too.”

“Remember, Amarie, you just got here, you ain’t seen it all, not yet. Oh, he’d never hurt me knowingly, but if I pushed him past sense, he wouldn’t know he had ‘til it was too late. That makes it our responsibility, each o’ us, to know how far we can go. I’ll tell you a secret, too: once he cares what you think o’ him, that’s the real way to manage him. Momma gets away with a lot cuz he’s afraid to disappoint her. He’s always worryin’ we’ll abandon him, too – cain’t seem to make him understand we wouldn’t – but it keeps him in line, and that saves everyone a lotta grief.”

“I guess there’s a lot I don’t understand...”

“Aw, don’t sweat it, sweetheart – you’re just a pup. The main thing you need to keep in mind is not to make him feel trapped. Tommy’s gotta big problem with anger, and he acts on it a lot, so don’t provoke him if you can help it. He’s gotta few other problems, too, that the Army called ‘impulse control issues’, when it was me they were dealin’ with. I got him into a few habits to help with that, like pull-ups on the beams down in the basement – that’s how the boy got such a thick upper half. It helps him work off steam, anyhow.”

“So if he barely eats half the time, how did he grow so big?”

Her uncle laughed. “You just ain’t seen him binge yet; he will when he’s at ease. Havin’ you ‘round has him all turned backwards and inside out, but he’ll get used to you, and then you’ll see him put down some chow.”

“Momma keeps sayin’ ‘give it time’, but I wanna be with him more now.”

“Tell you what – just between us, I think we could find a compromise between givin’ it time and pushin’ too much. Turn the tables on him – follow him ‘round, watch him – like he does to you; if Momma catches you, blame me.”

~ ~ ~

The lens in the metal door was still and beyond it, Amarie could hear the chainsaw going. Old Monty was in the den. Through the screen door, she could see her uncle pacing on the porch, in front of Momma Hewitt’s chair.

_They’ll want somethin’ for supper brought up soon, won’t they? Not just yet, though._

Unable to fight the temptation any longer, she gripped the edge of the sliding door and shoved it open just enough to let her slip through. Closing it was harder, and she wasn’t sure she could open it again from the inside by herself, but leaving it open would give her away. Her uncle’s permission was one thing, but she didn’t want her mother upset with her.

The stairs were wooden between concrete walls, and the first surprise as she took note of that was that the basement wasn’t utterly dark. A lantern hung just inside the metal door, throwing a weak light a few feet down the stairs. Beneath it, a thick ring of leather was hung on the wall – the collar for a plow horse.

She knew the furnace was down here, and it would give some light, but most of the dim illumination seemed to come from the ceiling.

Looking up, she realized that the flooring boards of the first floor of the house were not flush – there were gaps between most of them. It wasn’t enough to notice from above, but down here, light, sound, and dust filtered through.

She touched the old plow collar, feeling the cracks in the leather, and then went silently down the first flight of steps. They turned at a midway landing, but she didn’t descend the second set of stairs.

Whether it was fear or fascination that stopped her, she sank down to sit on the landing, her sandaled feet on the next step down. Below her, at a distance, she could see Thomas at his work table. It was little more than an old wooden animal crate with slats, turned upside down, but it seemed quite sturdy. His shirt was buttoned, and the stained and worn leather apron was back in place, hiding the heavy, taut chest she had caressed earlier.

Moving her head slightly to see him better as he worked, she had to peer at him through a metal wheel. It was some sort of machine on a separate table at the head of the dark and dripping work table. When the basement was abruptly silent, she quit fidgeting, concerned that he would hear her.

He had stopped the chainsaw and set it aside on another table behind him, next to an antique sewing machine. Grasping a square-bladed butcher’s cleaver, he turned back and began hacking a large carcass into smaller sections. On the floor near his boots, a black bucket brimmed with offal, but the red meat seemed almost ordinary.

_It don’t look no different from a side o’ beef._

Thomas finished quartering the meat, wrapped it in separate pieces with brown butcher paper and twine, and dropped the packages into a rusty freezer.

Then he turned away to hoist a large, oddly-shaped object from a hook by the wall. It dripped as he moved to place it on the work table. Yanking at it, he pulled the top section of a leather biker jacket from it and dropped it onto the sewing table, where part of the silver zipper gleamed in the dim light.

 _Is that – Sly?_ She watched, entranced, as her brother picked up the cleaver again and removed an arm with one crunching blow.

Far from repulsed, her hatred for her former captors burned in her heart, slowly assuaged by the violence Thomas did to their remains. A growing savage pleasure took over her mind, stronger than the feeling she’d known watching her uncle torment Kelli upstairs.

As it had then, the sensation became physical, too, and her fingers moved to slip under her dress, bunching it in her lap. The flesh hidden there was wet, and she blushed when she touched it, but did not stop the short, quick movements that created shocks of pleasure almost instantly.

Her free hand flew to cover her mouth moments later, but her cry had already been heard. Thomas looked up from his work, pausing as he stared up at her. Embarrassed, she smoothed her dress back down.

She was about to speak, when the metal door slid open. Jumping guiltily, she turned her head, hoping to see Uncle Hoyt.

Standing above her with hands on hips was Momma Hewitt. Amarie stood, backing up one step to the middle landing.

“Momma, I’m sorry, but Uncle Hoyt said I could watch him work...”

**************************************************

Luda Mae took a deep breath, refraining from cursing her brother out loud. “No small surprise,” she muttered. “Tommy, I need somethin’ for supper, and I think your uncles would like a roast. Could you fetch it for me, maybe somethin’ sizable, with one o’ the big bones?”

When he returned from the freezer with the heavy paper package, she gestured him up the stairs with it. He climbed up to them reluctantly.

“Thank you, my boy. Hand that to your sister, please. Since she’s decided to be here, she can help carry.” Watching as he gave it to her, Luda Mae turned away quickly and stood by the open door. “Come along, child, and don’t dawdle – we’ve gotta meal to get on the table.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

~ ~ ~

“Amarie, stop starin’ at the curtains and hand me that servin’ platter.”

She smiled as the girl obeyed, knowing it wasn’t the little roosters on the white curtains that had held her daughter’s interest. Those dreaming young eyes were still seeing her brother downstairs, no matter where she looked.

All through the meal, Amarie barely said a word, appearing to alternate between day dreams and a growing restlessness. No one commented on it, and the girl silently got up to start clearing off the table once they were finished.

After she had collected all the dishes and disappeared from sight, Luda Mae looked from her brother to their uncle and back again. “Well, now she knows, and understands, the worst o’ it. What’s more, she agrees with it, and that makes her family.”

“No one’s arguin’ that anymore, Momma,” Charlie answered. “Tommy’s even gettin’ used to her, bit by bit. The silly thing had him cornered in the kitchen this mornin’, and he didn’t break her to get her outta his way.”

Luda Mae nodded, pleased. “I’m goin’ to tell her the rest o’ it tonight, after I let her bring Tommy his supper.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Whattaya think, Monty?”

“Don’t care what she knows or dunno – but the help ‘round here is good. Girl knows how to keep a clean house.”

Charlie grinned. “It’s settled, then, Momma.”

Luda Mae rose with another quick nod and went to the kitchen. “Leave that a moment, Amarie, and help me get a plate ready for Thomas. You can come down with me to give it to him, too, if you like.”

The child’s smile was blinding, and she almost dropped the plate she’d been rinsing. “Lemme get the carvin’ knife.”

~ ~ ~

Thomas had immediately taken his supper off to his bed, so he must have been hungry. Luda Mae showed Amarie where he was in the sprawling basement, and told her son that his sister would be back to fetch the plate later. Then she herded the girl back up the stairs so he could eat in peace.

They washed up the remaining dishes together, and then Luda Mae went upstairs with her to talk.

Amarie had the clothing, boots, and jewelry that had belonged to Charlie’s play toy, but she seemed uninterested in keeping them. The boots and clothes were on and under a chair Charlie had brought her, and the jewelry was laid out on the bed. The girl’s fingers toyed with a silver necklace chain as she waited for her mother to speak first.

Luda Mae smiled, pleased with her manners, and sat on the bed. Her daughter sat beside her, near the jewelry. “Your uncles and I want you to know everythin’, child.”

“If you think I need to know, Momma, I’m glad to, but I don’t need it to be happy here.”

“I know – that’s why we wanna tell you all of it, so you can truly be one o’ us.” Reaching out, she took the girl’s hands in hers. “When the slaughterhouse was closed down, and they let Thomas go, they weren’t kind ‘bout it. Oh, my, he was so upset – thinkin’ his only way to help us all had been taken away. He went back there, after the last workers left, and took a sledge hammer to his boss, caved his head in. Sheriff Hoyt, the first one, must o’ dropped by to make sure the place was locked up proper and found the body.”

“The first Sheriff Hoyt?”

“That’s right. My brother took on his name, but that’s yet to come.” Luda Mae took a breath to gather her memories, and then went on. “Sheriff Winston Hoyt, the man who had been the law in Fuller for years, since Thomas was younger, came to the house late that afternoon. He wanted Charlie to come help him with Thomas, told him what my boy had done. Hoyt was goin’ to arrest him for murderin’ that dirty goat o’ a man, or so he claimed. Charlie thought Hoyt might could hurt him, though. He’d never stopped ‘em when others hurt him. Some people think my boy shouldn’t be treated nice just for how he looks, how he is.”

“Did he go with him?”

“He did, in the patrol car, same one your uncle drives now. They came across Thomas walkin’ outta the woods from the slaughterhouse, back up onto the road. They’d driven ‘round, lookin’ for him, Charlie said, and got turned ‘bout before they found him, so Thomas was walkin’ home when they drove up behind him. He had the chainsaw, he’d taken it from the slaughterhouse. God knows why – he didn’t seem to know how to use it. Charlie taught him how later, on a biker type like yours.”

“Maybe from Frankie’s gang?”

“I wouldn’t know, child. This was over a year ago, now. Charlie said the sheriff stopped the car and told him he’d fetch him if he needed his help, but he left his shotgun on the dash. He’d gone out to order Thomas to stop, and then Charlie came out after him, sure the sheriff was just gonna shoot the boy. He took the shotgun, and shot that man in the back o’ the head when he held his gun on Thomas. He was the first o’ many to go into the soup pot, and Charlie started wearin’ both his uniform and his name.”

“And Tommy was safe,” Amarie said, sounding as relieved as if the rescue had been that morning. “You know, I forgot all ‘bout it, but on the way home last night, he steered me away from that bit o’ land past where we hang the washin’. It was a short ways from the house, inside that broken down old fence? What’s in there?”

Luda Mae released the girl’s hands to adjust her glasses, hiding a smile. _My sweet boy; he coulda let her plow through there, and didn’t._ “It used to be one o’ the old goat pens, and we just let it grow over when the livestock was all gone. I think Tommy must be startin’ to like you, if he kept you outta it. Charlie laced that whole area with old animal traps, and if my boy wanted to, he coulda let you get hurt. We woulda thought it our fault for not warnin’ you off, since his memory ain’t all that perfect.”

Amarie’s fingers fell to toying with the biker woman’s jewelry again, a small pleased smile on her lips.

“Did you wanna keep that stuff?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t think so. It’s – I don’t need the reminders.”

Nodding, Luda Mae stood and headed for the door.

“Momma? Could we take it all to the store tomorrow?”

“Sure we can, if you like.”

“So then … can I go see Tommy again before bed?”

Sighing, torn between wanting to be careful and not wanting to hinder the growing bond between them, she nodded again. “O’ course you can – gotta fetch his supper plate, don’t you? Just be watchful, y’hear? If he starts to get nervous, back away for a bit – that sorta thing. He dunno his own mind half the time, poor thing, and he’s so strong...”

“Momma, if you don’t mind sayin’ … did you birth him?”

“No, I did not; I found him – in the dumpster behind the slaughterhouse. Someone, probly the man he killed, put him there wrapped in butcher paper and closed the lid. His birth mother was likely a worker there, and no idea on the father. I was young then, and times were hard. I went to find scraps to eat, and found my sweet boy.”

Amarie smiled. “Was he tiny?”

“Yes, and he still had his little cord on his belly, screamin’ fit to make Heaven hear him – he’d been born that very day. I took him home straight away and fed him up on goat’s milk. Never loved nothin’ so much so fast in my life. Charlie had to lemme know he thought the boy was ugly – he was born with his face a mess right off – but he warmed to helpin’ raise him soon enough, and we did the best we could with the way he is. He was brighter as a boy … whatever started in on his face seemed to affect his mind, but once Charlie taught him how to work at the slaughterhouse, well – you couldn’t ask for a better worker. He don’t tire easy, and he loves his family.”

**************************************************

Thomas hoisted the woman’s limp body up in his arms before tossing her over one shoulder. His uncle fastened his pants quickly and then led the way out of his room and toward the stairs.

He could hear his mother speaking to the girl nearby, and flinched with shame. She didn’t want him in his uncle’s room, didn’t want him to do things to the woman. He hadn’t, until his uncle had said to kill her. The pleasure of cutting her throat had been stunted; the body his uncle had laid down on had lost too much blood, and was nearly a corpse already. As ordered, he had again watched the act that he was expected to attempt, but it hadn’t seemed any less horrid after she was dead.

Opening doors along the way, his uncle led him back to the basement, and the work table, where this thing should have been taken from the start. He dropped the already stiffening corpse onto the table, and almost had to break it at a few of the joints to make it lie flat as he’d been told. He started to pick up the chainsaw, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Leave that a minute, Tommy, and come look. Now, she’s dead, like you like ‘em, and so y’know she cain’t hurt you. Gimme your hands. Here, now, see? Feel how soft they are?”

He started to wince, but the female’s chest was soft, though cool. His uncle continued to lead him, his hands on his wrists, moving his palms over the body. Then he moved him farther down the table, and released one of his hands.

“Spread the legs, there you go. Now, you remember at the creek bend, when your sister had her own fingers in there? I sure as hell do! It was all I could do to keep quiet. So we know she likes it, right? Pay attention, son. Okay, get your first two fingers in there, and move ‘em ‘round a bit, inside and out, see, there? Just like that. Females love that shit – when they shut up long ‘nuff to let you do it in peace.”

 _Was it a lie?_ The woman hadn’t liked it upstairs, but his uncle had known others, many others. Thomas shook his head. It was too much and he didn’t like the cold wet flesh. It had hurt his uncle before, though he hadn’t seemed to care.

“That’s called playin’ with it. I’d bet good money Amarie knows how to play with yours right back, too. This mornin’, when she was touchin’ you, I saw her little peepers drop to your crotch often ‘nuff to prove that. She wouldn’t touch it, I guess cuz I was there, but believe you me, boy, you want her to touch it. All the rest I was doin’ to this bitch, that can come later; you start with this here, and maybe your sister can help you figure out the rest when you’re more in the mood to try it.”

Thomas withdrew his fingers the moment his uncle let go of his wrist, but it hadn’t been as upsetting as what he’d seen upstairs. If he could do this, maybe it would be enough and he wouldn’t have to do the other.

“There you go with that ‘deer in headlights’ look again,” his uncle said with a sigh. “Tommy you do understand why I’m tryin’ to teach you this, don’t you? I thought I explained it good. Your sister is helpin’ us care for you, and I want you to learn this so that she’ll be happy to keep doin’ it. One day, your momma and me, we won’t be here, and she’ll have to take care o’ you all by herself.”

Alarmed, Thomas gripped the old man’s thin arm tightly, moving closer and bending down, trying to lean his head on the sloping shoulder of the uniform shirt.

His uncle sighed again and moved to embrace him, patting his back with his free hand. “I don’t mean we’re gonna leave you, you giant-ass sonovabitch. We ain’t gonna live forever, that’s all. Tommy, now, c’mon, it’ll be fine. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, that’s not for a long time.”

Soothed by the touch, he released him only when he was told to. Shaking his head, his uncle moved away to hop over the puddle and onto the foot of the stairs.

“Be a good boy, Tommy, and do what I showed you. Get used to it. Also, if you feel so inclined, have fun with the stiff like I showed you upstairs – it don’t spoil the meat none.”

Thomas looked back down at the still and quiet body on the table, his hands lifting slowly to stroke the chest again. Footsteps sounded behind him, as well as his uncle’s muttering voice, and then the metal door closed. He never heard her approach, until she appeared across the table from him, her shy smile a shock. He yanked his hands up from the body and froze, watching as she moved around to his side.

“I came to get your supper plate, like Momma said,” she whispered. “Uncle Hoyt lemme in; I was at the door when he opened it to leave. I’m sorry if I startled you, but he said I could help with your lessons.”

He twitched when she took his wrist in her hand, as their uncle had done, and lifted his palm to her chest. It was warm, and the cloth of her dress and the flesh showing above it were soft, but the teats at the centers were not still. They grew more prominent, and harder, under his hand as she moved it back and forth over the cloth.

“That’s good, Tommy, that’s real good.”

The girl’s touch hadn’t hurt that morning, and it didn’t hurt now. _She ain’t tryin’ to hurt?_ He moved his fingers then, grasping the soft spheres of flesh, surprised at her moan of pleasure. _He said she’d like it. Would she like the rest?_

Her grip on his wrist was broken as he brought his hands down, grabbed her pelvic bone on both sides, and lifted her up onto the edge of the table. As he’d seen her do before on the stairs, he pushed the dress up, exposing the same flesh he’d been shown on the corpse. The sight of it was similar, as his uncle had said. The little hairs were a darker gold than her long hair, and as the knees parted slightly, he saw that the folds of skin between the hairs were glistening.

Hesitating only a moment, hoping if he learned these things, his mother and uncle would not leave him, he lifted his fingers and pushed them into the tight, wet opening.

The girl gasped, leaning back over the corpse, her hands gripping it for balance as she spread her legs wider. Tilting his head to watch her, he worked the fingers back and forth, inside the heat of her and out over the slick folds of skin. Her breathing quickened, and she abruptly twitched and cried out.

Flooded with dread, he retreated away from her. _I hurt..._

She sat up straight immediately and smiled. “Don’t be afraid, Tommy, please, I’m okay – that was nice.” Her hand lifted, beckoning. “C’mere.”

The voice – it was the voice that had sung in the kitchen. He’d thought it was his mother’s voice. He approached warily, craving the soft voice, but afraid of the girl.

“That’s right, that’s good, I won’t hurt you … c’mon,” she urged, the gentle tones luring him closer.

He allowed her to reach up and untie the apron; it was something Momma often did, though she wouldn’t have draped it across the corpse. When the girl began unfastening the buttons of his shirt, he winced, but stayed rooted in front of her as she started to run her hands over his chest. She touched the cuts she had put liquid on, too, and he wondered if she was going to do that again.

“Uncle Hoyt told me that you cut yourself. I used to do that, too, back with my – well, where I came from. You do it to feel, don’t you? When you feel so numb you aren’t even sure if you’re alive? There’s a better way to feel, Tommy, and it makes you come alive like nothin’ else can.” Her fingers reached for his belt, trying to undo it. “I could show you...”

Thomas stiffened, afraid of what she might expect him to do. He grabbed her wrists hard, barely remembering not to crush them in his grip. He had done the thing his uncle had asked him to, but he knew his mother did not want him to do the other thing, which had killed the woman lying behind the girl.

_Why’d he tell me to? He says to watch, to protect, don’t hurt, don’t hurt … then why?_

He didn’t want to lie on her, crush her, or hurt her. The woman had been as horrified as he had, before she died, though she had hurt his uncle – he’d seen the blood. The urge to pick up the chainsaw flooded through him between one thought and the next.

_It’s faster, if they want me to kill, but they say not to hurt. Why say not to hurt, if they want me to kill?_

“Tommy, what is it? I didn’t mean to frighten you. If you don’t want me to undo the belt, I won’t, okay? I can show you without that.”

 _Show – what? How to cut?_ To prove to her that he knew how very well, he let go of her wrists and leaned around her to pick up the thin-bladed knife, holding the point of it near the swell of her chest.

“Yes, like the blade, but better. Don’t you wanna know a better way?”

The point wavered. _She wants to feel … the alive feelin’? She wants..._

“Tommy, if you want to do that, I’ll let you – but you gotta be careful, or Momma will be angry. Here, lemme help...”

Her hands came up and cupped his, drawing the blade closer. Under her guidance, she made his knife prick the flesh that rose and fell rapidly, allowing the point to draw a thin red line down to the edge of the cloth.

“There,” she said, moving his hand to angle the blade back at himself. “Now, for you, too.” Again, she guided him, making a matching red line down his chest. “Feel that, Tommy? The pain helps. If you wanna learn the better way, I’ll teach you, but I’m goin’ to go get the plate, now. You can follow me over there, but only if you’ll lemme show you … okay? If not, stay here – you got work to do.”

The girl simply moved his hand out of the way and jumped down from the work table, leaving him there with the impotent blade. As she went, she sang – and it was the voice that drew him after her.

She had picked up the empty plate from the floor, but when she saw him, she sat down on his bed and put the dish back where it had been. Slipping off her sandals beside it, she swung her feet up until she was lying on her side on his bed.

Smiling shyly again, she patted the space beside her. “You followed, Tommy, so now you gotta lemme show you. You promised,” she chided him, before he was aware that he had shrunk back. “I won’t touch your belt – just sit down.”

The hand that still held the small blade fisted around its handle, but he found himself sitting, obeying her soft, lilting voice.

“Remember when Uncle Hoyt asked you to sit so I could doctor you? I didn’t hurt you. I don’t wanna hurt you, Tommy, and I never will. I’m just goin’ to touch you, okay? Stroke you, like before? Uncle Hoyt done told you that you’d like it, didn’t he? He told me, just before he left.”

Her words meant little. Many times, people had said they wouldn’t hurt him, usually right before they did. It was her voice that held him, luring and drugging him. The pain of the cut she’d helped him make was singing, too – telling him that he was alive, that he was human. Sometimes, the edges of the cuts became mouths, and spoke. Hers did that now, and the red mouth on her chest sang.

Thomas twitched when he felt her hand on his thigh. Lost in the voices, he watched it move, holding himself utterly still.

“You’re beautifully made, Tommy. I don’t care what anyone else has said, they’re wrong. The muscles here are thicker than your arms, and strength like that – well, it just ‘bout makes me weak, I can tell you, and this … oh, God, Tommy...”

He winced again when her hand cupped him, but his mind couldn’t focus on what she did yet. _She said it was beautiful, made beautiful. It – I… am beautiful?_ The thought twisted, a lie mired by years of ugly shrieking truth. He knew what others felt about him, that they feared and hated because of his ugliness. The many wounds he’d made in them always sang it, until the saw stopped the voices. _Why did she lie?_

The desire to strike, fast, sank into his mind – to make her not lie, to make the voices stop, to make her stop. Yet he couldn’t move. The voices had him; her kneading, stroking hand had him, driving out all thought.

He’d never touched himself that way, and no one else had dared to. Long ago, his uncle had taught him how to hold it, but that had been for letting the water come, and you had to open the pants.

Fingers moving rhythmically, the girl made it change, made it swell. Fear gathered. _Is she harmin’ it?_ As she had promised, it didn’t hurt, though he could feel a heat growing there, a craving sensation like hunger. It struck the nerves like the blade did, and burned them. _The burnin’ – is pain – but they don’t want me to use the blade._

The knife slipped from lax fingers and struck the floor with a ringing sound. Thomas startled, unaware he’d done it himself. He rose in one lurching motion, tearing away from her hand. Surprised to find himself wavering on his boots, he whirled to see her staring up at him, naked fear on her face. His hands flexed.

She didn’t speak, she sang. The words, though always familiar, had never mattered, had never been understood – but the song pulled him out of violence, lulling him to obey, to be calm, to rest … to sleep.

Comforted by the voice, but afraid of her, he sat away from her, on the edge of the bathtub. She moved slowly, turning onto her back on his bed. Amazed, he realized she meant to sleep there. He watched her eyes close, saw her body relax, but the song continued.

Dazed, his hand touched it – the thing his uncle called many names, and his mother wouldn’t speak of at all. It was still swollen, the tightening pants almost hurting it, but the heat remained, the craving it caused growing stronger.

He withdrew his hand, confused, not knowing how to stop or help it. Slowly, as he watched the girl, he realized that the heat was good, but even as he thought it, it began to fade, the swelling going down.

_She said it was like the blade – better than the blade._

A whine on his lips, he got up and sat on the bed beside her again. When he reached for her wrist, grasping it gently this time, the voice fell silent and her eyes opened. He brought her hand back and placed it down, shivering when the fingers stroked him. She rolled to her side again and slid closer to him, her eyes on his.

“Tommy, if you want this, you gotta trust me,” she whispered. “Lemme open your belt. I cain’t show you unless I can hold it – do you understand?” Staring up at him, she nodded slowly. “Uncle Hoyt had you watch him, didn’t he, with Kelli? Did it frighten you?”

He wanted to nod, but fear and craving wouldn’t allow him to respond. His eyes widened as he watched her, his breath coming in shorter gulps.

“I’m sorry if it did. We don’t have to do that, Tommy, if it scares you. You can decide when, okay? I can help you to feel alive this way – and you’ll never need to cut yourself again. Will you give it to me and lemme show you?”

His uncle had said he’d have to do that, to take it out, and he’d said he should trust him. He wanted to trust. Her hand left him as his trembling fingers went to the belt buckle. Opening both buckle and zipper, he freed it, alarmed at the change in it. The skin that usually covered it had peeled away and down, leaving the tip exposed.

Her fingers covered his hand, and then touched it, and the craving heat blossomed in it again, instantly, making him suck in his breath.

“Tommy, can y’hear me? This is goin’ to be odd for you, I think, but you can feel that it’s nice, cain’t you? Oh, how can I explain...You know cattle – this is a weird way to put it, but it’s like milkin’ a cow, okay? I’m goin’ to do that, but it’ll feel good.”

He didn’t understand. _Why is she talkin’ ‘bout cattle?_

Soon enough, he forgot the words, falling inside the sensations. The heat burned and the craving grew, until his body spurted a strange, warm, milky fluid. It fell over her fingers and his, dotting on his pants over his thigh, where it began to seep into the cloth.

A strangled moan escaped his lips when it happened, the feelings exploding, as his mind struggled to comprehend it. _She didn’t lie._ Every nerve sparkled, every cut sang, and he knew then that he didn’t need to understand it. _She will help? She will stay?_

Mesmerized, he watched as she put his fingers in her mouth, as she had her own, moments before. Too stunned to fear that she might bite, might consume, he merely took it in, shivering again at the feel of the tongue that licked his fingers clean of the fluid. When she released them, they felt wet, and chilled.

Thomas tensed, abruptly afraid of her leaving, but she only settled down on her back again, closing her eyes.

“Put it back in and close your pants, Tommy,” she directed, her voice soft. “Then you should get back to work before the meat spoils.”

He leaned in and touched her shoulder, pressing it gently down into the bedding.

“You want me to stay? Don’t worry, I am. Go take care o’ the meat, Tommy. When you’re finished, come back to bed. I’ll have a reward for you then.”

He pressed her shoulder once more before he rose, tucking himself back into his pants carefully. They were still tight, but he just left the opening and belt undone, and the shirt too, and went to fetch his apron.

Stepping over the knife, he didn’t remember that it had fallen. Without disturbing it, or wondering why it was on the floor, he left it behind and returned to the work table. Retying the apron around him, he reached for the chainsaw.

For only a moment, he worried that his uncle might not want him to do this yet. Then the clear instructions he’d just received echoed. _The girl – sister – she said to do it._

Without further hesitation, he fired up the machine, reveling in its music. Yet as the whirring, smoking blade descended, and the cooling blood splattered up, the whole act seemed different somehow.

The other way to feel alive – to take life from others – it was a pleasure he had believed unequalled. This body was dead and had become only meat. Carving the meat was a different, quieter pleasure … that of doing a job well, of helping his family. This meat had hurt her when it was alive – his sister. It had caused her great harm. The thought changed the quiet pleasure into the hot and pounding urge to kill.

Thomas roared with the flood of it through charged veins, driving the saw to decimate the corpse savagely. Before he knew it, it was beyond use, destroyed utterly. The table sagged beneath it, pierced too many times by the blade.

It didn’t matter. _There’s more wood, it can be repaired._ Then he noticed the condition of the meat, and sobered. Turning off the chainsaw, he held it at his side. _Ruined … it’s ruined._

He didn’t flinch when his sister touched his arm; he’d heard her approach from behind him the moment the saw was quiet. She looked at the ruined meat, and to his shamed surprise, she smiled.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Tommy,” she whispered, her hands sliding up his arm, over the leather bracer, and up to the skin, stroking it. “You can pick the bones and stuff out and make a stew. I’ll even help you.”

Her hands turned him, one of them slipping inside his pants when he faced her. The fingers squeezed there gently, the shock of pleasure almost buckling his knees. Her other hand snaked under his apron to touch his heaving chest, the fingernails pinching the teat a little.

“I promised you a reward, and your bed is too big for just me. We can get back to work in a minute.” She stepped away, the tiny hand leaving his body only to take him by the hand.

Thomas paused a moment, making her tug at his arm. Lifting the chainsaw slightly in his other hand, he showed it to her, tilting his head in a question.

“Bring it along, I don’t mind. Momma said you made that little table for it.”

~ ~ ~

It was dawn before they were finished cleaning the scraps of meat of all other materials, including jagged chunks and splinters of wood from the table, and bits of bone and tooth. To finish up, he used a bucket of water to wash it clean of fluid from the mangled intestines, scooped it all into the center of a sheet of butcher paper, and wrapped it up as best as he could. The freezer was half full when he found a place for the stew meat; Momma would be pleased.

His sister was almost asleep by then, so he swept her up into his arms and carried her to his bed.

Lying at her side on his back after dropping the apron over the edge of the bathtub, his head turned from side to side restlessly. He continued to do so as the sun rose, alternately watching her sleep and staring at the chainsaw, until the blood stopped dripping from it.

He knew his mother and uncle would come looking for her, and felt his stomach clench. They might be angry, might yank her up and make her leave. Then she touched him in her sleep, her hand making a fist against his ribs, and he let out a soft growl.

 _If she wants it, and if she comes back,_ he thought, and felt his insides start to loosen again.

There were sounds filtering down from above already – doors closing upstairs, voices calling. He let them melt into each other, hearing only the comforting light breathing of his sister as she slept at his side.

In his mind, her voice still sang, slowly pushing the world away as it sent him to sleep at last.


	8. Interruptions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in the middle of an updating edit run on this story. Thanks for your patience, and thanks for reading. For anyone who read this on AFF, I've improved it a lot in the typos department, and I changed the deputy's last name from Sawyer to Hadley, to avoid fandom confusion (since other Chainsaw movies use Sawyer as Leatherface's last name). - AnonGrimm @MET_Fic

**Deputy Hadley:** What was that thing you said, Doc – comor-somethin’?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Co-morbid. It refers to the social phobia being experienced in tandem with the borderline personality disorder, but that is only a guess – not a diagnosis.

 **Deputy Hadley:** Never been a fan o’ big words. So what’s this disorder do?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** It is characterized primarily by emotional dysregulation, and –

 **Deputy Hadley:** Whoa, back up! Dysregu-what?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Extreme ‘black and white’ thinking, the belief that something is one of only two things, and ignoring any possible ‘in-betweens’. The disorder is also characterized, as I was saying, by importunate instability in mood, interpersonal relationships, self-image, identity, and behavior, and a disturbance in the individual’s sense of self.

 **Deputy Hadley:** Sounds like quite a party.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** The disturbances suffered by those with borderline personality disorder have a wide-ranging and pervasive negative impact on many or all of the psychosocial facets of life – including employability and relationships in work, home, and social settings. Furthermore, sufferers may be marginalized by society due to their moods and behaviors.

 **Deputy Hadley:** Marginalized? Persecuted, more like – ‘til he learned to persecute back. So what else is involved with it?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** If Hewitt suffers from this disorder, he may make frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment by loved ones. Within his unstable interpersonal dealings, with family and/or others he encounters, his feelings may alternate between idealization and devaluation, at times to extremes.

 **Deputy Hadley:** That’s a lotta extremes. I guess treatin’ people like things is devaluin’ ‘em?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Precisely. The identity disturbance, however, the lack of sense of self, is one of the most debilitating aspects of the disorder. Others would be his impulsivity, or lack of self-control, in many areas, like promiscuous sex or eating disorders.

 **Deputy Hadley:** Or takin’ up murder as a hobby?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Alas, yes. Hewitt may also suffer an affective instability, due to a marked reactivity of mood, including intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety, usually lasting a few hours, or rarely, a few days. Common problems are inappropriate and intense anger or difficulty controlling it, such as frequent displays of temper, constant anger, or recurrent physical fights. Also, he may experience transient, stress-related paranoid ideas or severe dissociative symptoms.

 **Deputy Hadley:** What’s that?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Dissociative episodes are where the person may experience visual or auditory hallucinations, become disoriented, or experience depersonalization. The episodes occur generally in the context of hyperarousal, either through extreme emotion or anxiety. These generally last no more than a few minutes but may occasionally occur over hours or days. Aggressive or potentially dangerous behaviors may occur during these episodes. With borderline personality disorder, chronic feelings of emptiness or unreality are equally common, as are recurrent suicidal behaviors, gestures, threats, or automutilation.

 **Deputy Hadley:** You’re losin’ me again, Doc.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** It means self-mutilating behavior. A diagnosis of the disorder requires five or more of these symptoms to be present for a significant period of time.

 **Deputy Hadley:** Hewitt’s your man, then, no contest.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** I’m sure, but I cannot base a diagnosis on Fuller’s rumor mill, David. I must be able to study the man himself. If his murder of my uncle can be used to affect an arrest, the verdict in the case would most assuredly be ‘not-guilty by reason of insanity’. I could arrange, with Austin authorities, to have him remanded to my hospital for treatment.

 **Deputy Hadley:** Treatment? I doubt you could do much with him. Better part o’ valor would be to take him out long-range, sniper style. In any case, keepin’ your distance is the main thing.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** One cannot leave this man loose to potentially harm others merely out of a preference to remain at a safe distance – to do so would be reprehensible.

 **Deputy Hadley:** Then I vote for the ‘shoot from a distance’ option. I’m tellin’ you, the whole clan is like a minefield – healthier to go ‘round it, the long way.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** No, I think you’ve stalled enough, David; it’s time we took a drive.

 **Deputy Hadley:** We? Up to good old Fuller, the cesspool of Travis County? Doc, I don’t think it’s a good idea, you comin’ with me. That house is a pocket o’ Hell, nestled between El Paso and Dallas, but skipped on the travel maps. Stay here. Lemme scout it out, okay? I already lost the fight with Jim Connor. No sense throwin’ good after bad, right?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Who is Jim Connor?

 **Deputy Hadley:** An idiot, but a rich one. He’s got this notion o’ buyin’ up most o’ the town while it’s empty, hopin’ the economy will turn ‘round and he can sell it all dear. He even took his wife Dodie with him, the damn fool.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** I have to see this Thomas Hewitt for myself, David – sooner or later, I will. Either your superiors must find a way to arrest him, or I shall have to seek him out with my own resources. I’m sure I could find sufficient reasons to have the man committed, with or without the benefit of lawmen.

**************************************************

She woke slowly, half-dreaming about the advice Uncle Hoyt had hurriedly whispered before leaving her on the stairs the night before. It had both helped her to succeed and probably also saved her life.

Amarie had kept her explanations and persuasions simple, childlike, and used her brother’s name repeatedly. She had adopted a soft tone combined with clear directions concerning things she expected him to do, and given him space when he got too keyed up. Finally, when he had managed to spook her, she had sung the mockingbird song to lull him out of an instinctive savagery.

 _How did he put it?_ she thought. _‘Don’t take it personal, but if you cross the boy’s wires he could still stab you without much warnin’, or break you’. Typical o’ the ornery old man, ain’t it, to expect me to not take bein’ almost stabbed ‘personally’?_

The subject of these hard and fast teachings was still lying silently at her side, his stomach rising and falling with breath too quickly for him to be asleep.

_Good – safer than tryin’ to wake him. Momma will worry, though. I should get upstairs and tell ‘em I’m all right. Will he fuss if I do?_

She started to rise and barely succeeded in hiding her startle when he moved faster than she had thought he could have, turning to face her with one massive arm across her body. The masked face was close, his fearful eyes staring into hers as his heavy frame tensed with desperation.

“Tommy, listen, Momma will be worried, and I have chores to do, too. If I go upstairs, it don’t mean I’m leavin’ you, okay? You could even come with me, if you wanted. I need to change your bandage, anyway.”

His arm moved, but only enough to allow the hand to hover over her body, the dark eyes that had locked on hers almost begging her for something.

“You can touch me, Tommy, if that’s what you want.”

She kept her breathing even as his hand stroked her, his motions very similar to how she had explored him under their uncle’s direction. Was he mimicking the action? Soon enough, and not surprisingly, he grasped her wrist and leaned back to place her hand on his open pants.

As eager as she was to touch him there again, there was another lesson to be learned, and she knew she had to get it done right at the start. There was no freeing herself from his grip, but when he let her go, she turned the game on him, taking his wrist to lead him where she wanted him. Her free hand pulled her dress up to her waist as she set his fingers to her skin.

“It’s my turn, now. We have to share, Tommy, to help each other to feel good. Use your fingers again. I’ll help you.”

She had to give up on guiding him with her own hand as his single-minded eagerness to please went to work. Gasping and arching her back, she quickly lost count of how many times his strong, thick fingers made her come.

In spite of feeling drunk and dazed at once, she never forgot to keep talking to him, reassuring him, even if her words became a little breathless.

“Yes, good, that’s so good… Tommy … oh, God...”

He might never have stopped, if she hadn’t grasped his wrist gently, pulling at it to slow him down. He’d made her so hypersensitive that she feared she would mess up somehow, lose control, and confuse or upset him.

“Stop now, okay? Thank you … that was perfect, Tommy.” Taking a deep breath, she sat up, prepared this time for his arm to bar her from leaving the bed. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, all right? I just need to move to touch you. Can I lie between your legs? Open ‘em just a little, Tommy.”

As soon as he began to obey, she realized that the new directions worried him. She touched his cock with one hand, letting him know it was his turn, before she settled down with her breasts resting against his crotch.

_I wish I could get us both out o’ our clothes. How big a fight would I have on my hands? Has he ever just slept or lounged naked? Probly not. One thing at a time..._

Amarie drew the impressive organ out of the pants again, feeling the wetness he’d made trickling down her inner thighs at the sight and feel of it. The desire to place it in her mouth was strong, but she didn’t dare.

_Not just yet … there’s time – plenty o’ time. Take it slow, or you’ll upset him; if you upset him, you make him dangerous._

The threat of that slowly became an added thrill as she coaxed the thing to life, caressing and squeezing gently, loving his low moan. He had a skin hood on it like Frankie. She smiled as it pulled back while she stroked it.

_It won’t take much. Poor thing, just like me, it never does – but we can learn better together, now._

She caught most of it in her hand when he came, and made sure he watched as she licked it from her palm.

An idea had occurred to her, and without knowing quite how it would sound to him, she decided it was worth a try. Frankie had done the same to her, and while she hadn’t ever believed it in reality, Tommy probably would, and it might help to make him obey her more.

“If I swallow this stuff, Tommy, that means part o’ you is mine. Do you understand?” She shifted and moved over him, straddling his powerful body. Settling on his thighs, she laid his cock on his stomach and licked her fingers.

He remained still, watching her, but his right hand moved, the fingers reaching to push inside her opening. They came back out covered in clear fluid, and when he placed them in his own mouth, through the hole in the mask, she felt herself come all over again.

Amarie jumped when the metal door opened in the distance, the movement making Thomas grunt, though he didn’t appear to know that he should be embarrassed to be interrupted. She barely got him and herself covered with her dress before their uncle rounded the corner and found them.

“Well, well. Good mornin’, all. Havin’ fun, Tommy? I hate to say I told you so. Ah, hell, who am I kiddin’? I love sayin’ that shit.” He leaned on one of the wooden support columns and grinned. “Work table’s a mess, I see. Momma was worried sick, too, sure the late night saw fest was her darlin’ makin’ a mistake. I’ll be pleased to tell her different.”

Blushing hotly, Amarie asked, “Could you bring down the iodine and bandagin’ stuff, sir? Tommy’s leery o’ lettin’ me leave just yet, but I need to doctor him.”

“Don’t blame the lucky fucker a bit. Sure, I can play fetch. Let’s get you both upstairs for breakfast, though, in ‘bout an hour.”

“Yes, sir, thank you.”

“I’d say ‘my pleasure’, darlin’, but I think you two got that sewn up.” Laughing, he slipped away, whistling as he clomped back up the stairs.

Smiling, Amarie leaned down from her seat on her brother’s thighs. Propping her forearms on his chest, she looked into the dark eyes that stared up at her in fascination. “That means we have to get up, Tommy. Don’t worry, we can play again.”

~ ~ ~

Thomas straddled the chair at his sewing table for the bandaging, his large hands gripping the back of it in front of him.

Amarie’s hands were as gentle as always, but her patient was still and quiet for the first time.

Nearby, Uncle Hoyt had taken on the chore of repairing the work table. He’d shown her the stash of hardwood posts and boards under one of the many shelves along the basement walls. It had all been pre-cut to measure, with a bucket of long nails and a rusty hammer beside it.

When the bandage on the back of his right shoulder was replaced, Amarie asked Thomas to turn around in the chair. His swift obedience and stillness as she picked up the iodine bottle elicited a grunt of approval from their uncle.

“Got the boy as tame as a mouse, by the looks o’ it – good work.”

Uncle Hoyt started to hammer in the next nail, but paused when he saw her hand the iodine-stained towel to her patient. Thomas lifted it to her chest, wiping it over the shallow cut there. Amarie took the towel back after a moment and started tending to his cuts.

“Did he get you last night, darlin’?”

“I let him,” she replied, smiling. “He didn’t understand me at first, and it helped.”

“I see. Well, don’t you start carvin’ yourself up, too – we ain’t got no more o’ that stuff.”

“Don’t worry, Uncle Hoyt. I’m teachin’ him that he don’t need to do that no more.”

“Just how are you managin’ that?”

“By givin’ him somethin’ better to do.”

The old man’s bark of laughter pleased her. “I bet you are, honey.”

After she finished, Amarie caressed her brother’s chest once before fastening his shirt buttons. Looking beyond their uncle as she capped the iodine bottle, her eyes rested on the curious wheeled machine near him.

It seemed to be a heavy piece of equipment, perched on its own thick wooden stand near the head of the work table. She had looked through it from the stairs to watch Thomas work before, but never wondered what it was.

“Uncle Hoyt, what is that wheel thing?”

“What’s what? Oh – it’s a bone grinder. That and the metal door, and a few other o’ Tommy’s toys, we brought back from the old slaughterhouse. I bet he’d show you how it works next time opportunity knocks.” He straightened, admiring his handiwork. Tommy’s work table appeared to be brand new. “Well, that takes care o’ that. Okay, upstairs, now, both o’ you. I promised Momma I’d prove you two were still breathin’ so she can settle down.”

~ ~ ~

Uncle Hoyt sat at his place at the head of the table with Momma at his right and Old Monty on his left. Amarie sat next to Momma and watched as Uncle Hoyt coaxed Thomas into the dining room.

“Sit down, son, in the chair, now. That’s it. No more standin’ up at your plate like you ain’t a member o’ this family.”

As he sat hesitantly at the foot of the table, Amarie reached to pat his hand. When the others began to eat the thinly sliced tender meat and hominy grits, she waited until Thomas ate. He glanced around the table nervously once, and then surprised her by reaching for the food with his fingers.

“He’s not much on forks, pay it no mind.”

Hearing their uncle’s voice, Thomas paused, saw her staring, and dropped his hands to the table, his head lowering.

Amarie watched him, struck by pity. Setting her fork down, she tweaked up a piece of meat between her fingers. As his eyes flicked up, she popped the meat into her mouth. Smiling her encouragement, she nodded when his fingers moved again to hover over his plate. Picking up another slice, Amarie bent it into a curve and used it to scoop up some of the white grits.

Thomas seemed to relax more after that, and breakfast continued, accompanied by Uncle Hoyt’s soft chuckling.

Gathering dishes after the meal, Amarie almost didn’t see her brother slip away. “Where’s he goin’?”

“Back downstairs, most likely,” her uncle answered. “Tommy ain’t one for hangin’ ‘bout up here much.”

“Thanks for your advice, sir,” she whispered, “last night...”

“A boy needs a man in the family, to show him what to do. My poppa taught me all I know, and havin’ no son o’ my own, I pass on what I can, what he can deal with, to my nephew. He’s done very well, too, for all his … shortcomin’s, and he always looks out for his family. That’s the most important thing, honey.”

Shifting the stack of plates onto her arm, she leaned in to hug him. “I know.”

In the kitchen, Momma Hewitt watched her clean up. “I’m happy to see you both in one piece, child.”

“Oh, Momma, he’s so strong, but he can be so gentle, too. He’s like a child, just like you said, but eager to please once he knows how. It hurts my heart to see him strugglin’ to understand, but it seems so sweet somehow, too.”

“He didn’t hurt you, then, when he…?”

Amarie blushed instantly, looking away. “We didn’t do that. I think he’s very nervous ‘bout it. That’s okay, though.”

“Just take things slow, child, and keep in mind that your uncle may have confused him. If you spook him, he could hurt you before he knows he has – he’s simply too powerful to toy with, so be careful.”

“I will, Momma, don’t worry.”

“A mother cain’t help but worry, Amarie. Promise me this: don’t take my boy too far ‘til we can be sure that he understands things properly.”

Trying to hide her reluctance to make that promise, she mumbled, “Yes, ma’am,” and turned back to washing up. “I wouldn’t never rush him,” she added, almost under her breath.

~ ~ ~

When her chores were finished, she slipped back through the basement door the moment she saw Momma Hewitt walk off the front porch to speak to Uncle Hoyt. He was about to leave in the squad car for the day, and then she would go to the store. That would only leave Old Monty at home, and he couldn’t get down the basement stairs.

 _Outta sight, outta mind?_ she thought with a smile. _I’ll go with her to the store tomorrow. For now, I need to prove to Tommy that I’ll come back like I said._

She found him sitting at the sewing table, his hands open on his thighs, his head down.

 _He looks so lost... I know somethin’s wrong with his mind, there would have to be._ Focusing on the mask he wore, she fell to wondering what was wrong with his face, too. _Would he lemme see?_

Momma Hewitt touched his mask sometimes, though no one else in the family seemed to try it. He always allowed her to do it, but Amarie had noted that her touch there was always light, and very gentle.

 _Maybe cuz the skin there is sensitive?_ “Tommy?” she called. His head lifted instantly, his eyes staring at her so intently that she blushed. She came down the stairs, but hesitated at the bottom. _Is the puddle gettin’ deeper?_ Hearing a tiny sound, she looked up and startled to find him right in front of her, his hands reaching out.

Reacting to her fright, he retreated, his head turning away as if in shame. Her heart constricting in pain for his misunderstanding, Amarie lifted her hands to entreat him.

“I’m sorry, Tommy. Those men, and Kelli, too – they did things to me that make me startle like that if I’m surprised. It’s not cuz you scared me. Were you comin’ to help me down?”

His eyes were full of confusion and fear, but he reached out to her again when he saw her hands outstretched. One arm scooped her up around her back, one hand against her stomach, as he swung her up and over the puddle.

Breathless when he set her on her feet before him, she wished she could have kissed him. He was far too tall, of course. She’d have had to try pulling him down more, and she didn’t want to upset him further by trying it.

 _Next best thing,_ she thought, and smiled as she embraced him, guiding his hands to where she wanted him to hold her. “That’s called a hug, Tommy, do y’know that? It’s like sayin’, ‘thank you’.” She placed her head against his chest, pleased when he relaxed into her touch. After a moment, she stepped back, breaking his light grasp to look around him at the sewing table. “What are you doin’?”

She took him by the hand and led him back to the ancient sewing machine. On the table in front of it was a face: Tony Scapelli’s face.

The sight of it, torn from the man’s head in mostly one piece, shocked her. The right temple and left cheek had been cut raggedly, and it appeared that Thomas had attempted to repair it with thick black twine. Yet in spite of the flatness of it, the planes of the expression were intact enough to make her shudder as one of her rapists glared up at her from beyond the grave.

 _Grave?_ she chided herself, knowing her disgust and fear were upsetting her brother again. _Tony wasn’t buried in no grave, idiot – he’s in the freezer. Get it together, okay?_ At the same moment, she realized that he had intended to wear the thing, and her stomach flipped over at the thought of it. “Tommy, would you do me a favor? Could I have this? Don’t worry ‘bout your face, your mask is fine the way it is.”

Studying it closely for the first time as he watched her, she belatedly noticed that parts of the other two men were already infused into it. Recognizing the long ponytail of hair with another ugly shock, she slid into the chair before her knees could buckle.

Tentative and fearful, his fingers touched her shoulder. Without looking up, she clasped them tightly, well aware that she had to reassure him.

 _God help me, what am I gettin’ myself into? He like to near killed me last night. How many times did it almost happen?_ Overwhelmed, she couldn’t stop the tears. Slipping her fingers from his, she covered her face in her hands and sobbed. When his hand left her shoulder, she twitched, sniffed, and tried to regain control. “I’m sorry, Tommy, it’s just – that man hurt me. I guess you wanted a new mask, but I dunno … if I can look at him...”

When she dared to open her eyes, the face was gone from the table. Turning, she saw it stretched, pulled, in her brother’s hands. He watched her, quiet and questioning, as his fingers slowly tore the skin apart.

Rising quickly, trying to swallow her sobs, she hugged him again, holding him tightly. As his hands dropped the pieces of skin and moved to the exact places on her back and hip that she had just shown him, she melted against his chest and cried harder.

 _I don’t care, I don’t care,_ she thought, frantic. _Maybe I’ll screw up one day and he’ll kill me, but I need him._ Lifting her head, she stepped back to look up at him. His eyes were wide behind the mask, his confusion clear, yet the powerful body had held her, without question or anger for her weakness. _Cuz he needs me, too._ “Don’t you?” she whispered. “Tommy, I’m so sorry if I scared you, but thank you – for destroyin’ that face. Maybe I could help you make a new one, with parts that won’t bother me?”

Moving out of his embrace, she clasped his hand again and led him away to his bed, to the only way she knew for certain that she could fix the damage she might have caused. Lying down and then coaxing him beside her, her hands opened his belt and pants.

“I hope you can forgive me,” she whispered as her fingers stroked him. He watched her in silence, so trusting and pliant that she blushed with shame for having doubted that she could be safe with him. Feeling her tears drying on her cheeks, she whispered, “I do trust you, Tommy. Just be patient with me, please.”

His mouth opened, his back arching slightly as she pleasured him. Amarie saw his dark eyes roll upward before they closed, and then she smiled through fresh tears. Deep inside, a fierce feeling was growing, and she clung to the warmth it gave her as her fears faded away.

_I’m goin’ to protect you too, Tommy, cuz … I love you, and I’m gonna teach you to love me back. Then we’ll be okay … you’ll see._

When she had licked her fingers clean, he moved to touch her without being told, and after they were both sated and tired, Amarie sang him to sleep.

Settling against his massive body, she snuggled up and closed her eyes, letting the natural heat he gave off keep her warm. One hand on his chest, she fell into the rhythm of his breathing and slowly drifted away, her dreams sweeter than they had been in months.

~ ~ ~

 _“_ Tommy? Are you all right?” Amarie sat up beside his hips, her hand on his heaving stomach.

She had woken up hours later, and judging by the way the light through their wood plank ceiling had moved and darkened, she realized it was either late afternoon or early evening. She suspected that Tommy hadn’t slept the whole time, but he had remained quietly at her side. Inspired by that, she had decided to try teaching him a thing or two.

Failing to convince him, for now, that it was okay to laze in bed nude, she had changed tactics and began explaining one of her favorite things. The biggest obstacle had been reassuring him that it had nothing to do with biting or eating anything, and in the end, she’d given up on words. Using their uncle’s method, she had asked him to trust her, and then simply demonstrated. Going slowly helped, but it was the pleasure that made him relax and finally accept what she wanted to do.

The salty-sour taste of his cum had almost been overwhelming from the source, but she had managed to swallow it smoothly. His size had nearly choked her, too, when his body had bucked upward instinctively once. She would never be strong enough to hold him down, but a warning pressure of her hand on his stomach had helped control the reflex some.

His eyes opened slowly, as if he felt a little drunk. Amarie smiled. “Hi. Did you like that?” He didn’t nod, or indicate that he understood her at all, but she decided to take his limp dazed response as a yes. “It’s nice, ain’t it? I’d love to show you how to do me, but I’m not sure how to explain it.”

**************************************************

Luda Mae glared at her brother as he swaggered into the store. “We have a problem … Sheriff.”

Taking off his sunglasses and putting them in his shirt pocket, he drawled, “You don’t say.”

“I called home a while back, asked Monty to send Amarie to me here, and he said she was with Tommy, had been all day.”

“So? It’s young love – it may take ‘em a little time to get jaded and bored with it, Momma.”

“Stop jokin’ ‘round and listen. You took my boy into your room and showed him your filthy games – how do y’know what he learned? What if you just taught him how to kill her, and that’s why she didn’t answer Monty when he yelled for her?”

“If you’d seen ‘em this mornin’, with that little filly just perched on his dick like she was born there, you wouldn’t be yammerin’ on ‘bout it. He likes her as much as I would if she was sittin’ on me, and that’s a lot.”

“She told me after breakfast he wouldn’t do that yet, that he was scared to. I lectured her again on bein’ careful, takin’ it slow – but she cain’t do that if Tommy thinks you expect him to finish her off!”

“If they ain’t done it yet, they will; have a little faith in my teachin’, will you? Besides, how loud did Monty yell? Those two were up romancin’ and carvin’ stew meat till the sun came up, and if they took it into their heads to grab a nap, they might not hear a lot. Monty knows how to get Thomas up if he wants him – all he’s gotta do is bash that cane on the floor over the boy’s head. Yellin’ won’t mean a thing to him; Monty bleats so much, he’s learned to tune it out.”

“Would you check on her? Two minutes, that’s all I ask. If she’s sleepin’, let her sleep, but I been worryin’ all day –”

“Yeah, I noticed. Fine, Momma, fine – I’ll go rattle the girl’s noggin, and make sure she’s still breathin’. Anythin’ else?”

“Explain to Thomas that you don’t kill your partner.”

“Well, that’s gotta wait, don’t it? I used up the last ‘partner’ teachin’ the boy how it’s done. I hope you ain’t thinkin’ I’m goin’ to play Fred and Ginger footsie with some bitch just to show him how to treat his sister!”

“Watch your mouth,” she flared.

“Oh, I’ll watch it, Momma. Just don’t expect it to be fastened to anyone’s ass, least o’ all a skirt’s. I’ll go waste my time checkin’ up on your son, though – hell, maybe I’ll catch round two and watch a spell.”

Furious, she cursed him under her breath as he left. The doors swung shut with a squeaking smack, and then the patrol car started up outside and drove away.

~ ~ ~

After supper, Charlie was in a friendlier mood, and smug from having found their young charges alive and well. When Thomas escaped downstairs and Amarie started on doing dishes, Luda Mae asked him again to explain things better to her son.

Picking his hat up off of the table, he stretched and then laughed. “Fine tunin’ is your specialty, Momma. I handle the demonstrations, the bits you ain’t got the plumbin’ for.” Grinning at her frown, he headed out of the dining room. “I’m goin’ to bed. Don’t wake me unless the house falls down.”

Luda Mae got up and went into the kitchen as Monty wheeled out and down the hall, heading for the den.

“Your uncles are no help whatsoever at times, child.”

Amarie smiled, but didn’t answer.

“I asked Charlie to explain things to Tommy, better than he had, but he won’t do it.”

“He won’t hurt me, Momma. He’s changed, somehow, since this mornin’, and I don’t think it’s a danger at all anymore.”

“It could be. Don’t you gamble your life like that, be careful with him.”

“I will, ma’am,” she answered, her tone mild and distant. Finishing up the washing, she hugged her quickly, and then slipped away. “Goodnight, Momma.”

Luda Mae stared at the dishes dripping in the rack as the metal door opened and shut quietly. Fumbling for her cigarettes and lighter, she lit up quickly and puffed smoke in a cloud around her.

Outside, a noise caught her attention. Opening the back kitchen door, she heard a rumble in the distance, echoing over the fields.

_Is that thunder? Air don’t smell like rain..._

**************************************************

Thomas shied away when his sister tried to touch his mask.

“That’s okay, Tommy, it’s all right,” she soothed. “Will you try it? It’s easier than what I just did. All you gotta do is use your tongue insteada your fingers, and I’ll be careful not to touch your face.”

He ducked his head a moment, avoiding her gaze. Long ago, before he had stopped going to the school, he had feared that he was ill. The thing his sister still held in her hand had become swollen over and over then, and at night, it would leak out the milky fluid. His mother had said nothing when she washed sheets, but she had become upset more than once. For a time afterward, he had expected that the illness might kill him, and then it had disappeared – but the shame of it had not.

“Tommy? Don’t you want me to be yours? We have to belong to each other, so that we can stay together forever.”

It was to bind them. _Eatin’ the fluid will keep her from leavin’..._

As he moved down, she released him and lay on her back. His breath quickened in fear when she opened her legs, bending the knees. Shoving himself back into his pants, he fastened the clothes and the belt with trembling fingers. Lying in the wide space between her legs, he curled his arms around her thighs and lowered his head to her warm, moist flesh.

“That’s it,” she encouraged him. “It’s no different from the soup, Tommy. You make it come out with your tongue, and then you just lick at it. Don’t bite, though – only your tongue.”

The image that rose from memory was of a bitch dog with nursing puppies. His uncle had said they had to drink the milk to grow strong, and if they didn’t, they might die. She had nursed from his body, and said it made her strong, and made him hers.

With a low growl, he touched his tongue to her flesh, slapping and licking at it wetly for a while until the fluid came. It didn’t rush or spout with the force of his, but the taste of it was sweeter.

 _It makes her mine? Want … want it..._ His arms flexed, tensing as hard as her body as she strained and shuddered in his grip. Fiercely lapping the fluid, he pressed his face closer, until the mask touched her skin. _She don’t shy from it … she don’t fear..._

He became aware that his body was in pain slowly, as the tightening pants and his own weight hurt the thing as it swelled again under him.

_She will nurse from it? She has to grow strong._

“Oh, shit, Tommy,” she said, her voice straining.

Her hands held his forearms, which she had stripped of the leather wrappings when she took his shirt. Her fingernails sunk into the flesh, but the pain was welcome. His tongue moved faster, eager for more, sliding around the flesh and then thrusting inside the hot opening. The fluid came thicker then, and when he did it again, she let out the small screams and softer sounds, noises she had said he didn’t need to fear.

_It’s good, and she will not leave; she will not die._

His arms tightened to hold her still when her hips bucked against him. Though he moaned with his own distress, he never wanted to stop, and ignored the painful ache of the swelling. Then she pressed her hand against his hair, pushing at it, and he remembered that it meant he had to stop.

Forgetting how close he was, the mask scraped up her inner thighs when he lifted his head, the raw agony of it on the left side of his face making him flinch and shudder.

“What is it? Are you hurtin’ somehow? Oh, your face – I’m sorry, Tommy, but thank you. You are just … amazin’.”

Thomas shifted his body, rising and rolling to his back to try and relieve the pressure. His sister smiled, her hands reaching for his belt.

“It got you goin’ again, did it?” Sitting below his hips, she drew it out gently. “I guess it’s tough to lie on these when they do that, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll make it feel better.”

Vibration overhead – dust falling, and the cracks in the wood leered down at him, promising blood. The lust for it instantly broke the spell she wove. His hand groped, found her gold hair, and pushed at it. He almost forgot to be gentle in the rush of red that filled his mind. She stopped nursing, lifting her head.

_Does she feel it?_

“What is it, Tommy?”

He didn’t know the words, but then their mother’s voice screamed above, and cried his name.

Thomas rose, shoving himself into his clothes. Ignoring the pressure pain, he pulled the belt tight. When he reached for the chainsaw, his sister stood behind him, ready to follow. Whirling, he growled at her, the savage sound making her step back.

“I want to help fight ‘em,” she begged. “Tommy, please –”

His open palm struck her chest, rocking her back another step. Momma called again, frantic, directly over their heads, and he snarled, torn.

Gasping, his sister retreated, nodding her understanding. “You gotta go help ‘em, and you won’t risk me. Okay. I’ll stay here. Go!”

Turning away, he ran through the basement to the storm doors, toward the vibrating roar that promised blood. Tearing at the cord that gave life to the saw, he broke through the doors, the music of death drowning out the cries of the singing wounds he made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of Dr. Ambrel’s description of borderline personality disorder was borrowed from the entry listed on Wikipedia. While this guess on a possible diagnosis on Dr. Ambrel’s part is fictionally unofficial, I believe it to be a darn good guess as to what is wrong with Leatherface. Frankly, the more I study the disorder, the more spot-on it seems to be.
> 
> Also, to give a clearer idea on the subject of the masks in canon films, such as those dubbed the ‘Killing Mask’, ‘Grandmother Mask’ (or ‘Old Lady’ mask), and ‘Pretty Woman Mask’, I offer this excerpt from an interview with the original Leatherface actor Gunnar Hansen, who said: “The reason he wore a mask, according to Tobe (Hooper) and Kim (Henkel), was that the mask really determined his personality. Who he wanted to be that day determined what mask he put on. So, when the Cook comes home, with Sally, Leatherface is wearing the ‘Old Lady’ mask and he’s wearing an apron and carrying a wooden spoon – he wants to be domestic, helpful in the kitchen. At supper he wears a different face – the ‘Pretty Woman,’ which has makeup.” In another interview, Mr. Hansen added: “The idea of the mask is that there is no personality under the mask. That was the idea in talking with Tobe and Kim. When they created the character, they said he has to put on masks to express himself because he himself can’t do it. The way we tried to create him, there is nothing under the mask, which is what makes him so frightening.”
> 
> I hope that helps bring Thomas into better focus for the uninitiated... I’m not using these more infamous masks, per se, as I see them as coming along ‘later on’, as well as being from the original series of films, and not the remakes, which this tale is largely based on. However, Mr. Hansen’s comments are insightful in general as they relate to the character of Thomas Hewitt in this tale. In fact, the first mask he makes of a face in these remakes is the face of Eric, played by Matt Bomer. Thomas seems to realize the young man is handsome, and he wants that face to be his. – AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


	9. Machines

**Deputy Hadley:** You get a new secretary, Doc? Who’s the blonde?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** A colleague, Dr. Cassandra Wincott – originally from Fuller.

 **Deputy Hadley:** She don’t look like a psychiatrist, and I cain’t recall seein’ her back home before.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Dr. Wincott was fortunate enough to leave Fuller both early and often, as I did. She came into possession of some invaluable documents and files on Thomas Hewitt, from a local country doctor, which had been stored in the attic of the house she bought in Fuller after coming home from the university some years ago.

 **Deputy Hadley:** She still lives there?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** She retains ownership of the property; she lives here in Austin.

 **Deputy Hadley:** So she just happened to know you’d be interested in these files?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** No, I asked her about the Hewitt family, knowing she had lived there around the time that Thomas Hewitt was in school. She had a fascinating tale to tell about an encounter she had with Hewitt in her grandfather’s barn, and then she offered to show me the files. Apparently, her experience with him set her on the path of her profession.

 **Deputy Hadley:** You trust her?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Is there some reason I shouldn’t?

 **Deputy Hadley:** Woman seems cold is all, shifty even – got the personality o’ a truck.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Perhaps you should limit your flirtations to the nurses, David. Dr. Wincott is very … focused on her work.

 **Deputy Hadley:** Which is what, exactly?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** She believes as I do that we have a moral obligation to remove Thomas Hewitt from the damaging influence of his family, and a duty to strive to help the poor man.

 **Deputy Hadley:** You mean you want to study him like one o’ these bugs you got pinned in your display case. Admit it, Doc – you already called him a ‘career builder’. As for Wincott, I wouldn’t turn my back on her if I were you. Last thing looked at me that cold was a snake.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** I’ll take that under advisement.

**************************************************

Amarie paced, holding herself tightly. She didn’t know if she should remain where she was, or go upstairs through the metal door and see if she could help her mother and uncles.

_I feel like a coward, hidin’ down here while they’re in danger, but Tommy wanted me to stay here and I told him I would. If he comes back and I’m gone, that wouldn’t be good, neither._

She crept to the back of the basement, to the start of the long, empty passageway that led to the storm doors. The sounds that echoed down to her were frightening, full of screams, cursing, and the grinding roar of the chainsaw.

 _Please be okay, Tommy,_ she thought. Abruptly, the chainsaw stopped. _Is it over?_

Amarie listened carefully, unsure if the noises beyond and above had ceased or just moved too far away. Then she heard one of the storm doors open, and the heavy steps of her brother returning down the creaking wooden stairs.

Wanting to be closer to where he’d left her, she retreated to the head of the work table to wait for him. Smiling in welcome, relieved that he was all right, and hoping he hadn’t been injured again, she drew in a breath to greet him.

The dark silhouette paused, watching her, and then he stepped out of the shadows, and the dim light glinted off of the silver zippers of the black leather motorcycle jacket. The mouth split in a broad smile, and then Frankie lifted his hand to her.

“Hey, pet, you’re still breathin’,” he said. “We ain’t doin’ so good out there, but I think you and me might could do better without ‘em, don’t you?”

“Frankie...” Stunned, Amarie froze, unsure what to do.

He was almost as tall as Thomas, though not as heavy. His scarred face, framed by shaggy brown hair, was lit with a desperate hope.

“Amarie, you gotta understand – I never meant for Kelli and the others to hurt you. Anyway, they’re all gone, ain’t they? Remember what we always talked ‘bout? We can do it now. Let’s get outta here in one piece, and I’ll take you up to Dallas. I’ll get work, and take care o’ you.”

“How did you find me down here?”

“Tom and Sly – they told me what you said ‘bout these animals keepin’ you in their basement. We were goin’ to get Kelli, when all hell broke loose where they’d left you, so I sent ‘em back to help.”

“You never tried to save Kelli.”

“I know. I realized I didn’t care what they did to her – I just wanted to get you back. I saw that creature come up outta those doors, and figured I could find you that way.”

“He went up to kill the others for comin’ here. What ‘bout ‘em?”

“Fuck ‘em. You hate ‘em, and I’m sick o’ their shit. We can slip away, just us, and start fresh. It’ll be good, Amarie, and I’ll protect you. C’mon,” he urged, still holding out his hand. “We gotta go now.”

The future hung before her like the misty dream of a dusty road. The man who had brought her out of a bad home, taught her about pleasure, and helped her to feel alive for the first time in her life stood in one direction, and as she faced him, the memory of her time with Thomas waited behind her, muddled and mute.

_God, what should I do? I know Momma Hewitt’s right, Tommy is dangerous. He wouldn’t mean to hurt me, I believe that, but it don’t mean he won’t, eventually. He cain’t teach me anythin’ neither, or show me the world, like Frankie promised once; the poor thing dunno anythin’._

“Are you worried ‘bout those freaks?” Frankie asked. “Don’t be. The old couple is holed up in the kitchen, but the woman had a shotgun, so we left her alone. The sheriff took on some o’ our boys ‘round the side o’ the house, but they’ll get him. That freak with the chainsaw chased the rest o’ ‘em into the woods, along with the women. We can get away from all o’ ‘em, but we cain’t wait ‘round.”

 _Uncle Hoyt, Momma..._ She thought then of all that they had done for her, and the lesson that her gruff uncle had taught her.  _‘Family, lookin’ out for ‘em, that’s the most important thing. Family is all we got, and all we need.’_ Everything Frankie had said and done abruptly paraded through her thoughts.  _The others follow him cuz they expect him to look out for ‘em, but he’s leavin’ ‘em to die so he can run away._ Frowning, she held herself tightly, her feet taking a few steps backward away from him.  _He let the others rape and beat me – but Tommy protected me, over and over, and Momma and Uncle Hoyt, too. They … love me. Family – my family._

Frankie advanced, his smile wilting in growing anger. “I said now, girl.”

“No.”

“What the hell –”

“I’m not goin’ with you. I’m stayin’ here – but if you leave quick, you might could live.”

“They’re keepin’ you prisoner! God knows what they’ve done to you already! You’d rather stay and let that animal have you? Somethin’ like that – it must be sick what that thing does to you.”

“He’s not an animal. He’s my brother, and my – lover; he’s gentle and sweet.”

“Girl, you got your brains scrambled. C’mere!”

His disgust coloring his face, Frankie lunged for her, trying to grab her arm. Leaping back, Amarie cried out when her elbow struck the wheel of the bone grinder. Frankie surged after her again and she shrieked, hitting his reaching forearm with both hands.

He cursed when his fingers struck the grinder’s blades. “You little bitch! You’re comin’ with me, y’hear?”

Crying out, Amarie rushed forward and gripped his leather sleeve with one hand, her other hand groping for the wheel. It was heavy and stiff, but she leaned her weight on it and with a horrid squeal, it turned: pulling the man’s hand into the blades.

Frankie screamed as his hand disappeared to the wrist inside the metal funnel. As he tried to clutch at her with his free hand, Amarie let go of his sleeve and moved behind the wheel. Taking it in both hands, she dropped her full weight against it, and felt it move farther, grinding the sleeve of the jacket in with the flesh and cracking bones.

She shrieked again when his cries split the air. Retreating from the gory mess, she pressed her hands to her ears and watched the large man struggle to free his pinned limb.

Then she saw it – beyond the trapped man and the work table: a massive and silent shadow, watching her from the dark.

“Tommy?”

Whirling, she hurried around the work table to touch him, her hands sliding up his chest. He held the dripping chainsaw, his breath heaving, but his free hand lifted to hold her against him without hesitation.

Amarie looked up at him and saw that his gaze had never left the screaming and cursing biker.

“He came down here to take me away,” she explained. “I said I wouldn’t go, so he was gonna force me. I tried to catch him in that thing, but I could barely make it move!”

Releasing her, Thomas handed the heavy chainsaw to her and stalked over to the wheel.

“Holy shit,” Frankie cried out. “Get the fuck away from me, you freak!”

Without a glance at the man’s face, Thomas wrapped his thick fingers around the metal wheel. His arms moved first, and then his shoulders. Grunting and breathing fast through the mouth of his mask, he forced the wheel to turn.

Amarie covered her ears again, but her eyes watched avidly as the bone grinder yanked the leather-clad arm down, transforming it into a bloody frothing sludge that dripped from the bottom of the funnel into a large bucket beneath it.

The body of the man writhed, his screams growing weaker. His uninjured hand struck and gripped at the grinder’s indifferent metal, sliding away only to lift and slap at it again. It continued until the legs gave out, the thicker arm bones snapping as the heavy body sagged.

Thomas moved to it, took it by the waist and hauled it backward. The arm tore away as he lifted the body and laid it down on the work table.

“Please,” Frankie whispered, shocking Amarie. “Kill me...”

Thomas turned to face her, but when she offered him the chainsaw, he shook his head. Stepping forward, he took it from her, but only to lay it down on a countertop nearby, along the wall. Then he reached for her hand, holding her fingers gently.

“What is it?” Amarie asked. “What do you want?” When he tugged at her slightly, she approached the work table, allowing him to lead her to Frankie’s blood-splattered face.

The mouth worked slowly, as if he wanted to speak again, but no sound came out. Watching her brother, Amarie gasped when his fingers began to stroke the face, his dark eyes on her, questioning.

“You want … his face? Oh, Tommy, that would be nice, yes.” She touched the forehead, and then ran the backs of her fingers along one cheek. “You’d look handsome in it,” she told him.

His half-hidden mouth moved, the lips stretching, forming a shy smile as his eyes dropped, his head lowering.

Heart thumping, Amarie turned him to face her and wrapped him in her arms. He held her a moment, and then straightened, looking over at the saw, and the other bladed tools beside it.

“That can wait, Tommy, just a little bit. He’s still breathin’, so he’ll keep. Are the others safe?” She held her breath as he nodded slightly. It was the first time he’d acknowledged a direct question from her with a real answer she could understand. “They don’t need our help?” Again, his head moved, shaking to say no. “Okay.”

Forcing her breathing to slow, she took his hand and led him to the top of the long freezer. Sitting down on it, she got him to sit beside her. Fingers reaching for his pants, she rubbed his trapped cock inside them until his tense body relaxed, his eyes watching her.

“I want you to make love with me, Tommy, to put this inside my body. I know you been afraid to, but it won’t hurt me. I’ll show you how, and it’ll be okay. Will you try?”

He turned his head away from her quickly, his shoulder turning as he tried to hide his face.

“Tommy...”

Amarie jumped when the metal door at the head of the stairs opened. Momma Hewitt stood in the light under the lantern, smiling down at both of them.

“Time ‘nuff for playin’, both o’ you, there’s work to do. Tommy, you gotta go fetch the others from the woods. Amarie, I’d like you to help your Uncle Hoyt bring down the ones in the yard and in the traps. Go on up, child, he’s waitin’ for you.”

Reluctant to leave, Amarie nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” She squeezed her brother’s hand once and then headed up the stairs.

~ ~ ~

“Oh, she ain’t keepin’ you from it, honey,” Uncle Hoyt assured her. “Momma just wanted a chance to clarify a few o’ my lessons for the boy.”

“Yessir…”

Straightening, he sighed, looking down at the tall form of a man in leather and denim, his t-shirt full of red holes.

“Now you get the feet, like last time, and we’ll get started. At least these are easier to pick up – that brother o’ yours is goin’ to be gatherin’ bits he left all over the woods. Damn shame I was too slow on the uptake to give him some direction, though. Plenty o’ those parts were female, but none real usable now, most likely. Tommy’s nothin’ if not thorough.”

Amarie hesitated, staring out at the woods. “Did you get ‘em all?”

“All o’ the males, if your count was right, and at least three or four o’ the women. Some o’ ‘em ran off, though, I heard ‘em tearin’ away on motorcycles down the highway. You think they’ll look for payback?”

“No, sir, not the women – Kelli was the only one with any guts.”

“Hey, what ‘bout their leader, I never saw him?”

“I did.”

“Do tell, darlin’.”

“He saw Tommy use the storm doors and came down ‘em lookin’ for me. I shoved his hand into the bone grinder, but Tommy got it goin’ better when he came back for me. He’s still alive, but not by much. Tommy wants his face.”

“Is it one you can look at for a while?”

“Yessir … it is.” Amarie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Uncle Hoyt?”

The sheriff met her gaze and his smile was kind. “Yeah?”

“Frankie – he wanted to take me to Dallas and take care o’ me. I was tempted, for a moment, but then I knew I couldn’t never leave y’all. I wanted you to know, I guess.”

“It’s only human to be tempted, honey, but your family loves you.” Crouching down, he gripped the body around the chest, its arms flopping loosely. “Snag his boots, and we’ll take him on down. Gonna have to stack his buddies like cordwood for a bit, too, I think.”

Amarie smiled and picked up the boots. Geoffrey wasn’t as heavy as he looked, and it did her heart good to help her uncle with the work. When it was done, she could go down and sleep in her brother’s bed, leaving him to his work if he wasn’t finished.

_When he is finished, he’ll come to me. I hope I can help him to stop bein’ afraid. I’ll help him with his new mask, too, and then maybe he’ll lemme see his real face..._

**************************************************

Luda Mae asked her son to wait as she came down the stairs. Hopping over the dark water puddle, she took her daughter’s seat at his side. In front of them, blood dripped from the body on the work table.

“That one still alive?” Without waiting for him to respond, she got his attention and held his gaze. “I need to talk to you ‘bout your sister, and ‘bout the things you two are doin’ together.”

He tried to duck his head, but she placed her fingers under his chin and made him look at her.

“None o’ it’s wrong, Tommy, I’m not upset with neither o’ you. Your uncle, though – I’m afraid he got some wrong notions in your head. He tried to teach you things, and then he had you help him kill that woman. You gotta understand this – he don’t expect you to harm your sister, and neither do I. You can be together and not hurt each other.”

Thomas glanced up the stairs at the metal door, and she knew he was thinking about Charlie, and all he’d shown him. Frustrated, she sighed and reached out with her hand. Her son grunted when she laid her palm on his crotch, her fingers curling around the swollen mound of it. His dark eyes watched her nervously.

“This can be cruel or gentle, Tommy,” she explained. Removing her touch and taking his hands in hers, she added, “It’s like your hands, understand? They can kill – or comfort. It’s all the same; the difference is how you use ‘em. What Amarie wants from you, it ain’t gotta involve killin’ your partner, and it shouldn’t, neither. For people who care for each other, they are kind and gentle. Your grandparents loved each other, and he never hurt her.”

Smiling to reassure him, she let go of his hands and stroked his back to soothe him. Upstairs, they could hear the others coming, lugging a burden.

“Your uncle prefers females he don’t care ‘bout, so he couldn’t show you how to be nice, but you are a gentle boy. You always wanna help, to please. Let Amarie show you how, the right way, and don’t worry ‘bout what your uncle did. Okay? Do you understand me?”

He turned to her, seeking comfort, and ducked his head against her chest. Luda Mae held his head to her, her touch tender.

“You ain’t gotta be afraid... Oh, my sweet boy; you’re becomin’ a man, and that’s good for you. Just remember that she’s smaller, and though she’s strong, you gotta work at bein’ careful.”

Moments before Charlie and Amarie came into view, Luda Mae released her son and stood.

“Now you’ll need to get out there and bring ‘em all in before they spoil.”

He rose obediently, and then paused at the chainsaw. His fingers reached out to touch it, his thoughts slipping away. The machine had always mesmerized him, from the moment he dragged it home.

“Leave it, Tommy,” she admonished him. “You cain’t carry that thing and the meat, too.”

He left it behind and headed out toward the storm doors. Watching him go, Luda Mae released her held breath.

 _I hope it’s ‘nuff,_ she thought. _Sooner or later, you gotta let ‘em either learn how to fly, or learn how to fall._

She helped her family get the body down the stairs, and then went back up with them to fetch the others. It wasn’t late yet, but by the time it was all gathered, it probably would be.

Outside, Luda Mae reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a cigarette and her lighter. In the distance, Thomas was just reappearing with a torso over one shoulder, dragging another through the trees.

“Well, we’ll eat good for quite a while,” Charlie announced, chuckling. “I’m not much o’ a fisherman, honey,” he added to Amarie, “but you’re the best bait I ever used in a pinch.”

The girl hugged him, laughing, and Luda Mae smiled more easily. _We’ll be all right,_ she thought. _Everythin’ will be just fine._

**************************************************

The sewing machine was old, but still worked. Thomas stared at the needle as it punched repeatedly through the leather.

His sister had helped him remove the skin and they’d gotten it off of the sticky skull in mostly one piece.

Her fingers were perched on his shoulders as she watched him work, and he knew that the skin pleased her. The man had been with her before she came here, and she had said that she liked to look at him.

Stopping the machine when the last repair was finished, he took up his heavy leatherworking needle, strung with black twine, and fixed the ties to the edges of the mask, under the long dark hair. Laying the completed face on the table, his fingers began to tremble as they reached for the ties on the mask he wore.

“Don’t be afraid, Tommy. I love you and I won’t be frightened, you’ll see.”

He let the old mask fall to his lap and quickly reached for the new one, but her fingers covered his as she turned to look at his rotted face.

 _Was she frightened?_ It was more like surprise … and pity. The pity made him want to growl, but then her fingers reached out to touch him. Flinching, he leaned back.

“I won’t touch it, okay? Oh, Tommy … does it hurt? O’ course it does... I wish we had some medicine or somethin’ for you.”

One hand picked up the new mask as the other rose to gently brush hers away. Lowering his head, he settled the skin over his deformity, tying it quickly in place. Not ready yet to look at her, he kept his head down.

“The right side ain’t as bad off, huh? God, I wish we could help it somehow. Your poor nose... Doctors can fix things, most things, but you cain’t go to a doctor, can you?” She leaned over him, her soft lips touching the side of his neck. “Tommy, move the chair back, would you?”

He obeyed without thinking, and then grunted in surprise when she sat on him, moving the old mask to the table at the last second. With her finger under his chin as she’d seen their mother do, she lifted his head gently.

“Do y’know what a kiss is? It’s ‘nother way to say ‘I love you’. Here, I’ll show you. Open your mouth and I’ll put mine over yours. When I touch your mouth with my tongue, you copy what I do, and that’s called kissin’. Okay? I’ll be careful, so we don’t hurt you.”

He winced, anticipating pain, but her mouth was warm, and the tongue that gave pleasure had never hurt him before. The wet roiling movement of tongues was strange, but not unpleasant.

_She didn’t lie … she ain’t afraid o’ it._

Her hands gripped his shoulders as her body lifted, shifting, until she resettled, her legs straddling over his. Her mouth remained light and gentle, but her body began to move, rubbing against his, and making it swell.

The heat consumed his thoughts, building and almost choking him when her hand slipped down to squeeze his swollen flesh under the cloth. Breath coming faster, his hands rose to clutch at her as the pleasure mounted, the sensations drowning his fears.


	10. Patterns in Red

**Deputy Hadley:**  I only found one o’ ‘em, Doc, and the woman is so traumatized she can barely think, let alone talk. Your ‘colleague’ locked her away, said it was on your orders. Was it?

 **Dr. Ambrel:**  I hadn’t spoken to her about it, but she has anticipated my wishes accurately. The other four the woman mentioned may well be beyond our reach now, but my thanks, David, for bringing her in. Hopefully, when she is calmer, she will have much to tell us about what is happening up there – since you insist on waiting before we see for ourselves. In the meantime, Dr. Wincott is the best person for relaxing this woman.

 **Deputy Hadley:**  I wouldn’t call her ‘relaxin’’. Hell, I still think she’s got her own reasons for helpin’ us with this.

 **Dr. Ambrel:**  I assure you, I am capable of keeping her zealous nature in check; as for her motives, if they are served while she assists me in the case, all the better for us both.

 **Deputy Hadley:**  In other words, you don’t much care what she’s up to as long as your itch gets scratched, am I right?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Precisely. However, I have several years on Dr. Wincott, and more than a few tricks up my own sleeve when it comes to dealing with overly ambitious colleagues.

 **Deputy Hadley:**  I had her checked out. She’s thirty-one, so when she was fifteen and met Hewitt, he woulda been fourteen. That’s before he torched the school –

 **Dr. Ambrel:**  Allegedly...

 **Deputy Hadley:** If it helps you sleep at night, Doc, you go ahead with the benefit o’ the doubt. All I’m sayin’ is, if runnin’ into him was so ‘influential and life-changin’’, that now she’s willin’ to risk her life assistin’ you on the case, it might help to know what the hell happened between ‘em. Why won’t she say?

 **Dr. Ambrel:**  I assume that the experience was traumatizing and difficult to revisit. In time, I believe she will tell me what happened.

 **Deputy Hadley:**  Hopefully before it’s too late. This doctor’s files she brought over – they any good?

 **Dr. Ambrel:**  They are invaluable, as well as fascinating. The dates range from 1942 to 1952, dealing with Hewitt’s third year up to his thirteenth. His medical records paint a most interesting pathological portrait. Also, if his skin’s condition was left untreated, it is entirely possible he’d be quite disturbed by age thirty, with or without a personality disorder complicating his life. The psycho-social ramifications alone are … staggering.

 **Deputy Hadley:**  Great. You worry ‘bout how to fix him then, if you think you can. My job is to try and catch him for you without gettin’ us all killed.

**************************************************

She had to work on her concentration – no mean feat between her own excitement and the increasing pressure of her brother’s fingers on her upper arms.

 _That’ll bruise but it don’t matter none,_ she thought. _If I correct him ‘bout it, he’ll turn shy again. Get him now, while he’s wound up and ready._ She wanted to take him to bed but didn’t dare make him move either. _Lyin’ down on the woman is what he saw, what scared him. So I’ll try it sittin’ up._

Amarie knew she was ready – his tentative mouth was growing a little more confident but even clumsy, his first kiss had made her instantly wet.

The real difficulty was opening his pants as he gripped her arms but once his cock was free, she moved as fast as she could to grasp it, her free hand pressing on his thigh to help her lift her body up. Guiding it inside before he realized what she was doing wasn’t easy either but the toughest part was paying attention to him and ignoring the hot flash of pleasure that nearly made her faint as she was impaled.

Keeping her mouth close to his as he choked in surprise, she placed her hands over his ribs and whispered to him, trying to soothe him and add to his pleasure at once. Flexing her muscles as Frankie had taught her helped.

“Don’t worry, Tommy, it’s okay – don’t it feel nice? You make me feel very good and it don’t hurt me... Tommy? Put your hands on my waist and I’m gonna move a little more. You’ll like it, I promise.”

Amarie gasped when he obeyed, relieved to get her arms free. Hands on his shoulders, she tried to pull herself up and down, but the muscles were in pain from his grip.

“Would you help me? I need to lift up and then sit down again.”

Following her simple directions, he hoisted her up and lowered her, the results making him swallow hard. His eyes sought hers and she smiled up into them, trying to encourage him instead of merely sinking into her own pleasure.

“There you go, that’s what we need … do that again...”

Largely on his seemingly limitless strength, but with her guidance, they found a fitful rhythm. Leaning close to his ear, she continued to breathe encouraging and soothing words in between cries of pleasure as he drove her to come too many times to count.

She’d never been good at telling when Frankie was close during sex, but her brother was easy to read as his climax neared. His shoulders tensed under her hands, his breathing changing to short huffs. Beneath her, the powerful thighs bunched, lifting her as much as his hands were.

“Don’t stop, Tommy,” she directed at his ear. “I want it inside me. It’ll make me strong and I’ll never ever leave you... Oh, Tommy … yes … do it, let it –”

His sharp movements made her cry out and words became impossible. Her body purely in the power of his hands alone, she abandoned control to drown in sensation, vaguely aware of his guttural moan.

When he stopped, she felt dizzy and weak, barely able to breathe. Her arms around his neck, her body sagged against his chest. She tried not to sob in his ear, afraid he’d misunderstand. Soon enough, his fingers released her waist to carefully stroke her hair and back. The soft touch was almost a plea and he was obviously afraid that he had injured her.

Swallowing, she struggled to sit up and look at him. “I’m all right, not hurt... Tommy, I love you … thank you.” Carefully kissing him until he gently responded, she drew back and gave him a smile. “I think now that your new mask is done, we’d better get back to work. Can you help me up?”

He picked her up bodily off of him as he stood, paying no attention to his spent and slick cock, and set her down on her feet in front of him.

Picking up a reasonably clean piece of shirt that was lying near the sewing table, she gently wiped him clean and then reminded him about the work. As he fastened his pants again and went obediently to the table where Frankie’s faceless corpse was waiting, Amarie bunched the shirt in her fist and tried to wipe herself clean before going to help him.

 _Work means work, I guess,_ she thought, and smiled.

Tommy donned the leather apron and tied it as if nothing had happened. Turning to the well-known task, he had reached for the heavy cleaver without hesitation or reflection.

_Well, snap out o’ it, then and help, don’t stand ‘round moonin’. He liked it, and you can talk him into it again later._

Reaching for the bucket, she made sure the guts fell into it. She caught the intact hand before it struck the floor, slipped a gold ring off of the middle finger, and offered the ring to Thomas. He stopped chopping and held out his free hand.

She found a place for it on his index finger and grinned up at him. “That looks good there.”

Feeling the vibration of each powerful chop, Amarie picked up a small filleting knife from his collection of tools and started working the meat off of the severed arm. It was mangled at one end where the bone grinder had shorn the hand and half of the forearm away, but the heavy bicep would yield a lot of meat.

~ ~ ~

Hours and four corpses later, she couldn’t keep up with her brother’s energy anymore. Yawning, she moved behind him, out of the way of the swinging blade, and kissed his shoulder.

“I have to sleep, Tommy, okay? Come join me when you get tired?”

He paused, turned a little to look at her, and nodded once – an almost imperceptible movement. Amarie smiled and patted his arm, pleased that he was answering her again.

Weaving her way to his bed, she lay down in her bloody dress, too tired to do anything else. The sounds of butchery went on, the rhythmic thuds lulling her to sleep.

~ ~ ~

Amarie vaguely knew she had slept for hours with her brother’s arms around her, but when she woke, he wasn’t there. Before she could get up to look for him, she heard the chainsaw running in the distance above her.

_That’s outside; he must be helpin’ Uncle Hoyt with somethin’._

Stretching, she took her time getting to her feet. If the family had let her sleep this late, then obviously they thought her chores could wait after last night’s work.

When she got upstairs, she could hear Momma Hewitt in the kitchen, but she went up to the second story first to fetch a clean dress and wash up a little.

Lingering a moment in the room, she stroked the red stains on the bodice of the dirty dress she had lain on the foot of the bed. One side showed a clear handprint, the fingers thick; the other side was a strange smear, out of which a few different images could be made out.

_Like seein’ animal shapes in clouds..._

Remembering both his strength and his gentleness while the stains were made, she pressed her palm down into them as her body shivered with pleasure.

 _Tommy, I love you so much,_ she thought, her eyes gazing out through the dirty window. She couldn’t see him or her uncle from the second story, though the chainsaw noise told her they were close by.  _Just the clouds out there, high and dry – it’ll be ‘nother scorcher, for sure. Little or nothin’ to do at the store, most likely, but I guess I better ask Momma what she wants me to do._ Sighing, she left the stained dress on the bed and walked out of the room.

Emerging in the kitchen soon after, Amarie found her mother finishing up the breakfast dishes.

“Well, there you are. Your eggs are under that plate there, but they’ll be cold by now. We thought it best you got your sleep, though.”

Sitting at the kitchen table, Amarie removed the covering plate and ate the food gratefully, barely noticing that it was cold. When she finished, Momma Hewitt gathered up the dishes before she could rise.

“Sit, sit, I got these. Come to the store with me? You can come back and have a nap mid-afternoon, if you like. I do need help for a bit, but there’s not much to do.”

“Yes, ma’am, that’d be fine.”

They didn’t have to walk as they often did. The sheriff offered to drive them, after getting Thomas started on the next sapling he was cutting for firewood.

“What’s the wood for? It’s still hotter than blazes.” Amarie’s curiosity was mild, though – she was more interested in watching the muscles bunch on her brother’s arms and thighs as he worked.

Shouting over the noise of the saw as she had, her uncle answered, “We need a baby bonfire, for the clothes and other shit he carved up past usefulness. Go ahead and get in the car, darlin’, I’ll be there in a minute.”

~ ~ ~

The morning passed quietly at the store until a new and fancy green car pulled up, driven by a man in a suit. The woman in the passenger seat looked like a wife, but she didn’t leave the car.

Amarie listened as her mother gave them directions. It wasn’t the directions they had asked for, of course, but she kept quiet about that. Hugging her mother when the man left the store, she promised to walk straight home and keep off the roads. Momma Hewitt nodded and went to call the house.

_Then Old Monty will contact Uncle Hoyt on the radio, and if the car changes roads, he can still circle and pick ‘em up. Otherwise, their directions outta town will just lead ‘em to Tommy._

She didn’t feel sorry for them; they weren’t family. Going along with her role as friendly country girl, though, she gave them a wave goodbye when she left the store. The woman did not wave back, and her expression was disapproving as her husband drove them away.

Frowning, Amarie muttered, “She won’t be so proud if Uncle Hoyt catches her. If Tommy does, I guess she won’t be anythin’ – not for very long.”

Shading her eyes with her hand, she watched the car disappear in a cloud of dust toward her home. Turning and heading behind the store, she started across the grassy land dotted with dry trees. It was faster than the road, and she was eager to interrupt her brother’s work again.

 _I can sleep later,_ she thought, her body shivering again with pleasure at the memory of the night before.  _I guess I should wait, though, and let him deal with those people._ Sighing, she mused hopefully,  _Maybe Uncle Hoyt will get ‘em first._

The house was quiet when she reached it, and the sheriff’s car wasn’t there. Heading in and going downstairs, she smiled at the sight of Thomas hanging up the remaining bikers. When he finished, there was only one shining silver hook left.

He didn’t notice her, or at least acknowledge her, until he faced the leaking torso on the work table. It lay on a soup of bloody scraps, and he had picked up the cleaver to quarter it, but put it back when he heard her coming down the stairs.

She accepted his help with a grin when he came to lift her over the water, and then, without a word, led him off to the bed by one bloody hand.

That hand smeared another red stain on the bodice of her clean dress as she impatiently pushed the leather apron up and straddled his supine massive frame. Soothing any remaining fears the bed inspired, she freed and claimed him in one easy motion, keeping his hands on her breasts as she used her legs to pleasure them both.

When it was over, she lay on top of him, their bodies still connected, and murmured his name again and again at his ear for the simple joy of hearing it.

Finally, taking a breath, she added in a whisper, “If you’re inside me like this, I feel alive, I feel so good, and there’s nothin’ to be afraid o’ at all. I promise, if we rolled over and you were on me, I’d teach you how to do it, and it’d be just as good. Tommy...” She pulled back to look in his eyes. “I hope you can understand this. Anytime you want me, you can have me. All you gotta do is touch me and I’ll know.”

**************************************************

Luda Mae put the phone down, her fingers tapping the counter for a moment before they reached for a cigarette.

Mr. Connor and his wife had driven away, but Charlie would be heading to meet them within ten minutes.

“No sense in tryin’ to buy up a dead town,” she muttered. “Damn fools.”

She remained at the store into the late afternoon, sitting behind the counter, smoking and thinking. Connor had mentioned a sheriff’s deputy, twice, and the name, Hadley, was familiar.

There had been a family of Hadleys across town for years, and their father had served under the old Sheriff Winston Hoyt, but Connor had seemed to be referring to a young man.

 _Could be the younger son, the one that moved away after his brother died; what was his name? Daniel?_ Frowning, she ground out the stub of cigarette in the ashtray.  _No, that’s the dead one. David was the youngest. Maybe I should warn Charlie to question Connor?_

Troubled, she closed up the store and headed home the back way, as her daughter had done.

_I should check on her, too, and my boy, though it seems to be goin’ well between ‘em._

~ ~ ~

She watched the patrol car come in and park as she was scrubbing Amarie’s dress on the washboard. Leaving it in the tub to soak, she dried her hands on her apron and approached the car.

The rich man and his wife sat in the back of the car. The woman looked terrified, the man only angry.

Charlie was grinning as he barked an order at them to stay put and then got out of the car to greet her. “Meet Jim and Dodie Connor, Momma. They’ll be stayin’ a while.”

“Well, don’t call Tommy to help you – not just yet.”

“He’ll need to bring up somethin’ for cookin’ soon ‘nuff, anyway. Ain’t he earnin’ his keep?”

Smiling, knowing he’d be pleased, she replied, “I had a look through that peephole you think I dunno ‘bout – the one over his bed.”

Charlie narrowed his eyes warily and spit a stream of tobacco into the dirt between his boots before asking, “What o’ it?”

“Supper might be late tonight.”

Lighting up with glee, he laughed, smacking the roof of the car. The occupants inside jumped. “Well, dip me in shit! I guess I’ll string the bastard up myself, then … before I see that his wife is comfortable, o’ course. That takes more time, if it’s done right.”

“She’d last longer if you weren’t so rough,” she admonished him.

“You go be happy your boy figured things out, Momma, and leave me to my own fun.” Brandishing his rifle, he prepared to bully the man out of the car.

Luda Mae shook her head and started back to her washing. Over her shoulder, she remarked, “All the same, ask him why he kept talkin’ ‘bout a deputy named Hadley. Last thing we need ‘round here is more ‘law’.”

Chuckling at her implied teasing insult, he yanked the back door of the patrol car open. “On your feet, Mr. Connor, and I’ll show you the place. The missus, though, she better wait here. Don’t worry none, she’ll be comfy.”

Connor came up in handcuffs, indignant. “What are you talking about? Get these things off and take us back to our car this instant!”

“Now, that’s no kinda attitude to take. I’m ready to sell and you said you’re ready to buy.” Shoving him in the back with the nose of the rifle, he slammed the car door shut with his boot. The woman yelped. “Get movin’. I’ll show you the garage and barn first. We used to raise goats, y’know. Our father taught me everythin’ he knew.”

~ ~ ~

Finished with hanging up the washing, Luda Mae lit a cigarette as she walked around the back of the open garage. Charlie had volunteered to fetch meat for their supper as he was going in with the woman, but she wanted to sit on the porch a minute before heading in to cook.

_He’ll be a while trussin’ up that poor thing, anyway, even if he don’t stop to mess with her right off. Should I get somethin’ from the herb garden? Amarie’s done so well keepin’ it growin’, it’d please her if we used some o’ the marjoram tonight._

A weak male voice cried out, startling her. Turning to peer into the darkening garage, she could barely make out the shape of the man her brother had caught. He was hanging from a wooden crossbar held up by a pulley and rope, his arms spread out and secured tightly to the wood.

He swallowed with difficulty, and spoke again, the tone begging. “My wife … please … where is my wife?”

The woman’s scream split the night over their heads the moment he finished his plea. Luda Mae sighed, and cut off his attempt to beg her to help them.

“Forget her. If you got any sense, you’ll save your strength. Did he ask you ‘bout Hadley?”

Shocked into a response, he nodded. “Please, my God, you have to –”

“I gotta get supper on the table.” She went off to the herb garden, frowning when the man screamed for her to stop, to wait. “Hush, you,” she ordered, “or you’ll disturb my boy. Do that, and you’ll die before you can yell much longer.”

**************************************************

Thomas winced, shying away as the jagged rocks struck, cutting him. Throwing his arms over his head, he tried to hide his face, hoping for the quiet to return, for them to be gone. Laughter sounded instead, echoing in the dim barn. Peering out under his wrist, he saw the Hadley boy lean down to choose another stone.

Behind that boy, the smaller brother watched, his mouth open. Was he sorry, or just watching like the rest of them? Then the rock hit over his eye, the flowing blood almost blinding him. He grunted, thrashed, and tried to rise out of the hay, but something held him down.

“Tommy, wake up, wake up!”

With a start, he sat up, grabbing at his sister before his movement could knock her to the floor.

“Was it a bad dream?”

She stroked his arm and tried to soothe him, but the trapped feeling did not stop. Growling, he got up and returned to the work table.

The man his uncle had asked him to carry downstairs after supper was still alive on the hook. He knew he should allow him to drain more, and start with one of the others, but then he saw the man looking at him – saw the fear and disgust in his face.

Thomas reached up to touch his mask, his shoulders bunching in anger. Turning, he grasped the cleaver from the table and lodged it with a thump in the quivering chest.

Leaving the blade alone, he hoisted the screaming, twitching thing to get it off the hook and then dropped it onto the table. Yanking out the cleaver, he brought it down again on the throat to stop the noise it made.

His sister appeared around the corner. He paused, still stunned by her nudity. As it had before, the sight of her made his skin warm. The crawling odd sensation cramping in his groin, half pain and half pleasure, distracted him from the work.

She came up to the foot of the table and grasped it with her fingers as she smiled up at him.

“That dream upset you and workin’ helps? I can help, too. Do you want it again?”

Nervous and uncertain, he nodded once.

“Come down here, Tommy, behind me, and I’ll show you ‘nother way that’s fun. Leave the apron off for now, okay? You’ll like this,” she said, reaching out her hand to beckon to him.

When he reached her, she opened his pants for him. Bending low over the bloody table, she took his hand and placed it on her pale rounded flesh. At the center was the warm place, the part his uncle had taught him how to touch. He started to press his fingers inside it, but her voice corrected him.

“Put yourself inside, like before, Tommy. Remember how nice it was when I did it, sittin’ on you? Yes, that’s right; it won’t hurt me – go ahead.”

He obeyed, trusting her, and groaned at the feeling of it.

“Oh, yes … now, draw it back, but not out – then push it back in. Do that, yeah, keep doin’ that … oh, shit, Tommy! Don’t stop ‘til you’re done, right? ‘Til it feels finished?”

Some of her words made no sense, but he could see that she was pleased with the strange movement. Laying a hand on the small of her back, he spread his feet wider and thrust, just like the male dogs did sometimes out in the back pastures.

It was disturbing, a little, seeing his body slide out of sight inside her, but the place didn’t hurt him, and the motion had begun to feel better than it had before.

His sister leaned lower, putting her crossed arms down on the top of the table to steady herself. It made him go in deeper, and the pleasure almost choked him.

The thing that felt like a burst came over him fast, and he wondered if the milky liquid would stay inside her. Some of it leaked out, dripping to the floor, but her voice floated back to him, repeating reassurances.

Looking up, he saw one of her fingers tracing in the blood on the table. His weight had pressed her into it a little, and it streaked her chest. Tiny blood drops clung to her when she lifted slightly.

“Hey,” she murmured, “you can see pictures in it, like the clouds, Tommy, see? My – well, the man who took care o’ me before Frankie, he used to watch the clouds with me out in the backyard, when his wife wasn’t home. He showed me how to pick ‘em out. See that there? It looks like a tree. That one, it could be an animal – maybe a dog.”

Curious, he stared at the blood, but he didn’t understand. The table was saturated with it, smeared with ribbons and gobbets of flesh, too, but there was no tree or animal. Confused, he tilted his head at her.

“You dunno what I mean, do you? I’m sorry, Tommy; I cain’t explain it, I guess.”

He backed up away from her at a loss. Straightening, she turned and gave him a bright smile.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, okay? It don’t matter none.” She started cleaning them both up, yawning when she finished. “I hope that helped you feel better?” When he nodded quickly again, she smiled. “If you’re goin’ to finish this up, I’ll go back to bed, okay? Join me later?”

He watched her go as he tied the apron in place, and then picked up the cleaver again.

~ ~ ~

Noises upstairs woke him late the next morning, but his sister still slept beside him, so he remained quiet.

Drawing the blanket away to look at her body, Thomas felt the urge stir again. He had never tried to take her without her coaxing him, but the sight of her had started to make him want it, even as she slept.

Quiet and slow, trying to be careful, he slipped his fingers between her legs and pushed them inside.

With a low moan, she woke, her smile encouraging him. “You want it? I’m glad you like it as much as me. If it weren’t for our chores, and havin’ to eat, I’d never wanna let you outta bed.”

Thomas didn’t respond. Pulling his fingers out, eager to lie down on his back for her, he stopped and stared as the dark blood ran down his fingers and over his hand.

_No pain, why is there blood?_

Tearing the blankets to the floor, he froze when he saw the bright crimson stain on the sheets and the smears of blood on her thighs. Rearing up, he stumbled to stand and almost fell out of the bed. Moaning, he retreated to stare at her, his back against the near wall.

“Tommy, what’s wrong? Oh, oh – no. Tommy, listen, I’m not hurt, okay, you didn’t do nothin’, I’m fine! That’s just somethin’ that happens to a girl –”

When his uncle killed them, they bled there. Hands fisting, he staggered away, afraid to watch her die. Roaring out his rage and fear, he drove himself into another wall, smashing it with his fists.

“Tommy, wait, it’s okay!”

The metal door slid open with a crash and their uncle appeared. “What’s all the caterwaulin’ for?”

Thomas shrank into the wall, afraid of his anger.

“Uncle Hoyt, I dunno how to tell him, and he ain’t listenin’ to me. It’s just … I got my … y’know … and he saw the blood and I guess he thinks he’s hurt me!”

His sister walked closer to him, the stained sheet wrapped around her. Moaning again, he hid his face.

Boots clomped down the stairs. “Don’t touch him, darlin’, let him be a minute. You cain’t rush him when he gets upset, girl. Go on and fetch your dress. Find some way to plug it up, too, and we’ll show him nothin’s the matter.”

Thomas peered out at his uncle as the old man moved to the work table. Most of the meat was wrapped and put away, with only the hands, head, and feet left severed but intact.

“Good work, son. Now I’d like your sister to come upstairs and help me tighten a few ropes, and we could use your help, too.”

Hesitating only a moment as his sister reappeared in her dress, he pushed away from the wall to join him at the table.

“You don’t need the cleaver, and leave that damn chainsaw alone; I ain’t done with her ‘nuff yet for that. Bring the hand – no, the other one; there you go. Right then, let’s go, both o’ you.”

Thomas followed them, the severed left hand in his fist. He hung back, moving slow, and watched his sister as she talked with their uncle.

_She ain’t hurt…?_

He flinched when his uncle seemed to answer the unspoken question as they left the basement and started up the stairs to the second floor.

“Tommy, there’s plenty you dunno ‘bout females, and one o’ the things is, they get to bleedin’ once a month cuz they ain’t had a baby started; at least they do ‘til they get a lot older. It’s just as regular as breathin’, and no reason to worry. You’ll see shortly, that she’s fine, I mean. Now let’s see if we can make Mrs. Connor a little less comfortable.”

He took the hand from him as they entered the room, and tossed it onto the bare chest of the woman in the bed. Her scream split the silence in the house, and they could hear Uncle Monty downstairs complaining, but Uncle Hoyt just smiled.

Thomas waited in the doorway as they worked with the ropes that bound the screaming, sobbing woman. His sister smiled at him any time she faced him, and his breathing slowed to see her moving and working without seeming to be in pain.

Something flashed in the morning light coming through the window, and Thomas entered the room to see what it was. Seizing a flailing arm they had untied, he found a pair of bright and sparkling rings with large, clear stones on them on one finger. Fascinated, he touched them with his other hand.

“Those won’t fit a single one o’ your fingers, Tommy. Why don’t you give ‘em to Amarie? That’d show everyone she’s yours now.”

Catching his sister’s expression, he saw that this pleased her. He tugged at the rings, his jagged nails cutting the skin, but they wouldn’t come off. Looking over at his uncle, aware he wasn’t done with the woman, he held up the hand.

“They won’t budge? Well, if you gotta break it, I don’t care none – go ahead, son.”

The woman screamed and continued to scream as he twisted and snapped the finger bone, but Thomas ignored the noise. Working the rings off, he released the arm, letting it flail. She touched the severed hand on her chest once before his uncle caught the limb and secured it again.

“That’ll do, thank you Amarie – and Tommy, we appreciate the help.”

His sister came up to him as he attempted to wipe the blood off of the rings. She held out her tiny hand for him, offering the same finger the woman had worn them on. Trying not to be clumsy or drop them, Thomas managed to slip them on.

“Thank you, Tommy,” she said, her smile bright. “Here, I got this one for you.” Their uncle had picked up the man’s severed hand and passed the golden ring on it to her. “This will fit you, and now you belong to me, too.”

She took his wrist in gentle fingers and removed one of his rings before sliding the new one where she wanted it on his left hand, and then replaced the other one over it.

Laughing with delight, their uncle moved to the open doorway and yelled down the stairs, “Momma get up here – you’re missin’ the weddin’!”


	11. Rising Dust

**Dr. Ambrel:** You’re saying if we storm in there, they might kill Miss Trambler. Yes, I understand, but we have to do something.

 **Deputy Hadley:** We won’t – but I will. Your uncle disappeared a long while ago, and there was never any real proof, not ‘nuff to get my bosses movin’. They just say he coulda left, or drove away and had a heart attack. If I can get some proof that Jim and Dodie Connor were grabbed by the Hewitt clan, maybe I can get more support for a real raid on the place. Nothin’ gets the higher ups to hustle quite like a rich man and his pretty wife goin’ missin’.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** I agree, but some sort of foray must be made initially. If you insist that I should remain, take Dr. Wincott with you, as my representative. She will be instructed to remain in your car if you wish, but she can take notes for my file on Hewitt, and act as a caretaker and guardian for Miss Trambler, as well – if you happen to acquire her.

 **Deputy Hadley:** Fine, fine – you missed your callin’, though, Doc. You’d have made a fine hostage negotiator … or a politician.

**************************************************

September brought cooler breezes, though really cold weather might not arrive until December, if then.

With the freezer in the basement stuffed nearly full, Amarie saw a welcome calm steal over her family as everyone settled into a comfortable and quiet routine of chores, meals, and rare leisure time.

Uncle Hoyt seemed to be the naturally restless type, and since he couldn’t drive the patrol car for pleasure, fuel being limited, he spent a good deal of time in his room with Mrs. Connor.

In the late morning, he would drive through town to the highway to keep watch for travelers, and Amarie was sometimes allowed to go with him.

She treasured those times, secretly pleased when the long and dusty road remained empty, inspiring her uncle to talk. His voice was rough and clipped, reminding her of the cracked leather horse collar at the top of the basement stairs. It lent a dreamlike quality to his stories of war, or tales of family members long dead.

Whenever someone did come driving along, she knew how to play her part, knew how to gauge which part was needed. If the traveler looked dangerous, she remained in the car and acted like Sheriff Hoyt scared her to death. If the vehicle was full of the more harmless sort, she would jump out of the car as if escaping him and run into the road, begging them to help her. Each time she did it, she expected them to swerve around her and gun the engine, but they never did.

Amarie was pleased and proud the first time he let her try driving the extra car home. She figured it out after his brief instruction and followed the squad car with only a few hitches and stops. Eventually, after the next couple of times, he even showed her how to siphon the gas from the captured auto to his patrol car. Uncle Hoyt’s praise was blunt and quick, but the pride in his bloodshot eyes could melt her on the spot.

She was less help to her brother if he was at the work table, and it was safer to keep her distance from the tools he used most of the time, since he could get a good flail going with either a cleaver or the chainsaw in his hands.

Not wanting to distract him and get him into trouble, she left him to it that afternoon and slipped off to the back of the basement to explore odd corners, shelves, tables, and hanging objects.

_I guess if somethin’s covered with dust it’s nothin’ Tommy’s messed with – not in a while, anyway._

She loved to look at his art: mix and match groupings of items nailed to a piece of flat wood, or fixed to it with rusty wire. Some pieces of them, once parts of something alive, were in bad shape, but the attempt was impressive.

 _He didn’t understand ‘bout seein’ shapes in things, but he does care ‘bout makin’ these._ Sighing as she set one of them down again, she straightened another it had bumped. _That’s gotta mean somethin’, that he’s got sense beyond just work and eat, right?_

Turning, Amarie startled at the glimpse of a face staring at her in the gloom. Approaching with caution, she realized it was a strange mannequin, like the shops had sometimes. It was sprawled, as if resting, on an ancient and mouse-nibbled wire spring mattress.

The vaguely female torso and head were wooden and also nibbled, with flecks of old paint suggesting a face on the oval head. A pile of dark material under the head might have been a wig, but it was hard to tell. Its wooden limbs had metal joints, allowing it to be posed.

In the distance, the sound of the cleaver chopping into meat had stopped and she could hear her brother coming to find her. Smiling, she took a few steps toward a worn old table and placed her palms down on it.

When his hands touched her, grasping the dress she wore, she bent over the table. Without coaching, he remembered his lessons that this posture meant he could have what he wanted.

Amarie held her breath at the sounds of leather rustling, his belt buckle clanking – and then she gasped as he took her from behind. His weight and strength nearly knocked her over and down onto the table, the leather apron slapping against her leg where he had shoved it out of his way. She groped for one of the large hands on her hip and tugged, smiling when he moved it to wrap the powerful forearm around her waist. Holding her up and keeping her from harm, he thrust harder.

She let her soft sounds of pleasure encourage him, the heat of it numbing her mind against any other sensation until he came. Crying out in time with his low broken moan, she held his hand to her stomach a moment. When she let it go, he stepped back, the thick cock slipping free.

“Oh, Tommy...” Turning to face him, she gave him a shy smile. “I love it when you come to find me, to be with me.”

Her hands were quick as they grasped the slick cock under the apron and tucked it back into his pants, fastening them with practiced ease. She let the apron fall back in place and opened her arms, letting out a long sigh as he bent down to hold her.

~ ~ ~

“You gotta wife now, son, and that changes things, don’t it?” Uncle Hoyt chastised Thomas at supper. “Get in here and sit down at the table – not gonna tell you twice.”

Amarie smiled at her brother and patted the seat of the chair next to her. When he sat, she lifted up off of her chair a bit so she could gently kiss his cheek, pleased that he didn’t flinch. “Can I really call him my husband, Uncle Hoyt?”

“Got the flashy rock on your finger, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered, and grinned at Tommy.

Always nervous of sitting at the table for any reason, her brother wasn’t listening. He ate his soup with gusto, though, as her uncle had said he would when he stopped being upset over her being there.

Whenever she watched him, if they weren’t down in the basement alone, the nerves got worse; so she tried to pay attention to the talk of the adults instead. Now, though, they weren’t telling family stories – it was all about the state of the town and the garden. After a while, she was almost yawning.

“Heavens, child, don’t nod off in your soup,” her mother admonished, her smile quick to reassure her son’s worried glance.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

Uncle Hoyt chuckled. “Might wanna sleep every so often, honey – just cuz Tommy can go forever on a nap a week prior don’t mean you can.”

“Would you tell one of your stories, sir, from the war?”

Momma Hewitt interrupted him before he started. “Not at the supper table – all that wretched mess...”

Winking at Amarie, Uncle Hoyt finished his soup.

~ ~ ~

In the bright late morning sun the next day, Amarie worked to take down the hanging clothes. Some of the sheets weren’t quite dry yet, so she left those up. She frowned at the sad shape of her brother’s few pants and shirts.

 _Husband,_ she corrected herself – though she still liked to think of him as her brother. It felt closer, somehow. _I wish somebody his size would come along; he needs new clothes._

She startled when the breeze moved a sheet and her uncle appeared behind it.

“Sorry, darlin’ – wanted to see if you noticed you gotta audience.”

Amarie looked where he pointed and was surprised to see Thomas at the side of the back porch. He had one hand on the post, the other limp at his side. His heavy leather apron was missing, so he had to be finished with their latest catch. She gave him a smile.

“He needs new clothes, Uncle Hoyt. There’s nothin’ left at the store that’ll fit him.”

“Yeah, but all we seem to get are these skinny bikers. At least we ran outta yours. I’ll keep my eyes peeled, honey.”

On impulse, she hugged him and then watched him walk off toward the patrol car. When he drove off down the road, she turned to face the back porch again, but Thomas was gone.

“Tommy?” She heard his heavy footsteps behind her and managed not to startle a second time when his hands fell on her shoulders. “I washed your things, they’re dry now. Will you carry the basket in for me when I’m done here?”

He pressed in closer and she felt the swell in his pants. Smiling, she knew they’d never get down to the basement in time.

The other day, he’d bent her over the edge of the couch as they headed in for dinner. Their mother had been scandalized, though Uncle Hoyt had just laughed and clapped. Uncle Monty had simply stared. Her cheeks had flushed hot with embarrassment, but Thomas never noticed or cared.

Remembering again how good he felt thrusting powerfully inside her, she walked off out from under his hands to lead him between the hanging sheets. Getting down onto her hands and knees in the dust, sparse grass, and weeds, she pulled her dress up to her waist and smiled back at him. She hadn’t bothered with panties in weeks.

His grunt as he hit his knees behind her bare bottom, and then his quickening huffs of breath made her wet so fast that she gasped when his belt buckle clanked. The breeze fluttered the sheets on either side of them as he pushed his cock into her. Practiced now, his arm came around her stomach to help hold her up.

Amarie repeated his name until gasps and groans were all the sounds she could make, her body jerking in his grasp with each urgent thrust. The weeds burned her knees and palms, but his wide shadow kept the sun off of her skin. She listened to the snap and flutter of the white cotton, the grunts of her brother, and sank into the bloom of hot pleasure, her hair tickling her face as it moved.

When it was over, he slapped his hips against her ass a few more times, pushing deeper inside her. She kept her eyes closed as his force moved her hands, the dust eddying up into her face. Then he pulled out, his arm hauling her into his chest. When he rose, he brought her up with him like a rag doll before setting her gently on her feet.

Amarie held her thighs tightly together for a moment, not wanting to let his cum drip down her legs yet, though it would when she took the sheets down. It felt good to hold it inside for a moment.

Leaning over, she grasped his cock and took it into her mouth to clean it off. She slid her tongue around inside the little skin hood, too, and sucked a few last precious salty drops from it before tucking it away.

Together, they finished taking down the washing. Thomas patiently held the heavy wicker basket for her and followed her back to the house with it.

He retreated back to the basement after setting the basket down on the kitchen table for her. Amarie shared a knowing smile with their mother as she began folding clothes.

Momma Hewitt was making iced tea in the heavy glass pitcher for Wilma’s visit.

“Henrietta’s comin’ too, and she’ll bring Jedidiah. Be nice to have you stay and visit awhile before you scamper downstairs.”

“That would be fun,” Amarie responded, using the shirt she was folding to hide her smirk. All she really wanted to do was go downstairs and play with Tommy, but she liked Wilma and her family.

“You can teach Jedidiah more numbers,” her mother suggested.

“Um-hmm,” Amarie murmured. She could feel a wet line of cum leaking down her thigh. Last night, her brother had licked it all clean. He was more at ease, and more willing to trust and learn new things. Sooner or later, though, she was going to run out of things to teach him.

“Here they come now,” Momma Hewitt announced, wiping her hands on her flowery apron. “Come outta that trance, child, and help me set out the glasses.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

~ ~ ~

That evening, after finishing the supper dishes, Amarie went upstairs to Uncle Hoyt’s door. She could hear Mrs. Connor whimpering, so she paused with her hand raised to knock. When the bed stopped creaking and his footsteps sounded on the floor, she knocked.

“C’mon in, honey.”

“How do y’know it’s me and not Momma?” she asked, looking away as he slipped into a threadbare bathrobe. As always, Mrs. Connor stared up at her with tear-filled eyes. He’d thrown a sheet over her nude body this time.

“Momma knocks mad, you do it polite.” He sat on the edge of the big bed at the heavy wooden footboard, near the woman’s head. “What can I do you for?”

“I was hopin’ you could tell me ‘bout some other stuff, things for Tommy and me?”

“How’d the last lesson go?” he asked, grinning at her like a cat.

Amarie couldn’t help the blush that rose on her cheeks, but she was used to him now, and had learned how to get him to talk. “It was good. You saw him on the back porch; he followed me into the yard and we did it like the dogs, on the ground. He seems to like that as much as the other ways.”

“Nice.” He looked down at Mrs. Connor and pushed his finger into her mouth. “No bitin’ now, there’s a good girl. So you want ‘nother trick to try? You’d be better off keepin’ it simple, but there’s not much left to try that is. Well, maybe one thing. Here, easier to demonstrate...”

Amarie was grateful he kept the robe on, though he tossed the sheet back off of the bound woman. They both ignored her feeble pleas and protests as he got up and crawled back over her on the bed. His head at her hips, he settled on hands and knees with his knees on either side of her head, the robe hiding her face. She tried to thrash, but the ropes were too tight.

Grinning again as he looked back at Amarie, he began to explain. “This is a good way to let him eat you out where he gets some fun, too; just don’t use the word ‘eat’ to your brother. He licks, you suck. Got it?”

Blushing fiercely, Amarie nodded. “Got it.”

“Best you be where I’m at, him on his back.”

“Okay, I’ll try that. Thank you, sir.”

“One more thing – don’t much matter to me, but work on keepin’ the playtime with Tommy down in the basement, or if it’s in the house or outside, make sure your momma ain’t ‘round, y’hear? You lovebirds are gonna upset Momma’s delicate sense o’ Southern decency.” He winked at her with a smirk.

Amarie grinned, stifling a giggle behind her hand. “Yes, sir. Thanks again for the help. Night...”

“Happy to oblige, honey. Night...”

She turned away and opened the door. Behind her, he spoke to Mrs. Connor.

“I didn’t get up here for the view, girl. Suck. Suck it good, and maybe you can get outta the ropes for a bit. Since you ain’t gonna try to run off again, right? Only got so many fingers left.”

Amarie looked down at her fingers as she shut the door. The gold and diamonds of the wedding rings winked at her in the dim light of the bare overhead bulb at the top of the stairs. Mrs. Connor couldn’t have worn them on the proper hand anymore.

She tried to feel some sympathy for the woman, but it was hard to muster after she had cut Uncle Monty’s arm when she got away from the dinner table before. Uncle Hoyt had kept her upstairs, restricted to the bathroom in the hall and his bedroom, ever since.

Feeling eyes on her, she looked up to see Thomas at the foot of the stairs, his hand on the rail. The gold band there that matched hers was dull in the dark of the hall. She gave him a smile and walked down until she was eye-level to him and kissed him. One hand moved for her dress hem, but she grabbed it instead to lead him off to the metal door.

“Momma might could take a switch to us both if we do it on the stairs when she wants to go up to bed. C’mon, Tommy. Uncle Hoyt showed me somethin’ fun we can try.”

**************************************************

Luda Mae sat on the back porch and smoked her cigarette. It was a fine evening for mid-September, not too cool yet, and supper and chores were done. The sky was on fire in a hazy orange and pink sunset. Across the yard, the breeze moved through the empty clotheslines, making a hum that joined the sounds of the insects.

Behind her, the kitchen door opened, but the footfalls were soft. “Come sit with me, child.”

Amarie came up and sat beside her on the long bench. Without a word, they held hands. For a time, they were quiet, but she could feel the girl trying not to fidget.

“Momma?”

“Mmm?” She exhaled and listened.

“You know how I been feelin’ sick lately, and thought it was a bug?”

Luda Mae turned a little to face her daughter, a slight smile starting to tug at her lips. She dropped the cigarette butt and crushed it with the toe of her shoe. “It’s not a bug?”

The girl dropped her chin, screening her face with that mop of pretty hair. “I think … maybe it might be a … a baby? That stuff Wilma said ‘bout when she knew she had Henrietta...”

Letting the smile spread, Luda Mae moved the hair and tucked it behind the girl’s ear. “I think maybe you’re right. Ain’t that a wonder?”

“Is it? I-I mean … is it good?”

“It’s a blessin’, child – do you wanna have his baby?”

“I … I do.” She bit her lip, and then took a deep breath. “How do I explain it to him? Explainin’ bein’ sick was hard ‘nuff; he always thinks I’m dyin’ and gets so upset.”

Luda Mae chuckled and leaned in to kiss her soft cheek. Pushing up her glasses with one finger, she clucked her tongue. “We’ll explain to him together. Have you told your uncles? Charlie can help with Thomas.”

“I wanted to tell you first, in case you thought I was wrong...” The girl glanced at her with wide shining eyes. “I dunno how to take care o’ a baby, Momma...”

“Don’t you worry none ‘bout that; I do and I’ll teach you.” Letting go of her hand to bring her in for a hug, she whispered into her daughter’s hair, “Givin’ us ‘nother Hewitt for our family – a beautiful baby. Don’t you worry ‘bout your brother, sweet child. Thomas saw Jedidiah as a baby; we can help him understand. Now let’s watch the sun set together and then we’ll go in and tell your uncles.”

The girl melted in her embrace and they watched the sun go down in silence. _Maybe Henrietta kept Jedidiah’s baby clothes and things in good repair?_ Her heart felt full, her eyes wet behind the glasses. Holding her daughter, she began to rock her slightly. As the breeze died down, she started to sing to her, smiling to imagine singing to Thomas’s baby about mockingbirds and diamond rings.

~ ~ ~

Thomas sat on the bottom step of the stairs to the second floor. They had explained, and Wilma, Henrietta, and even Jedidiah had helped at lunch. Now in the gathering dusk, Amarie sat at his feet, her tiny hand on his knee. Uncle Monty had gone to bed.

Luda Mae watched her son, proud of him for being patient and trying to understand. She knew they would have to be careful. _We never allowed him to hold Jedidiah as a baby, not that he’d seemed interested at all. Amarie might like to see him hold their child, though; we’ll just have to watch him and be aware o’ his moods._

“He’s good ‘round the boy now,” Charlie said. “He’ll do fine; we’ll teach him.”

Amarie looked up hopefully at them. “He understands a lot.”

“‘Course he does. I taught him to work, we taught him how to make babies; we can teach him how to act ‘round one.” He went up to Amarie, leaned down and kissed her on the top of the head. With a pat on his nephew’s shoulder, he moved passed them to go upstairs.

Luda Mae smiled down at them. “I’ll need you both at the store tomorrow, so get some sleep. Tommy, your uncle has chores for you in the mornin’, but when you’re done, c’mon out to the store. I got some wood that needs carvin’ up and repairs to make, so bring that chainsaw. Your uncle will remind you.” She hugged both of her children in turn and headed up to bed.

~ ~ ~

Clucking her tongue at the rough patch job in the back wall of the store, Luda Mae watched as Tommy finished with the hammer. She heard the front screen door open and shut and glanced behind her to see her daughter through the grimy front windows, a damp rag in her hand. The glass squeaked as she tried to clean it.

“You finish that up,” she told Thomas, “then come out front to get me and I’ll show you what’s next. I’m gonna go talk to your sister.”

When she got outside, she pulled out a cigarette and her lighter from her dress pocket. “Your uncle should be comin’ soon to pick you up, child. I have one more fix for your brother to do, but if you can get dinner started, I’d be obliged.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will.”

A sound distracted her as she lit the cigarette. Looking down the road, she saw the patrol car coming, kicking up dust into a brown cloud that trailed behind it. She could just make out the shape of another head in the car. Oddly, her brother had allowed his catch to ride in the passenger seat.

“Here comes your uncle now, and it looks like he gotta fresh one. You be careful and follow his lead, y’hear?”

Amarie smiled. “We’re gonna need ‘nother freezer, or... Could we have a little party and have Wilma, Henrietta and Jedidiah over? Have a real big spread?”

Feeling tired from cleaning up the store all morning, Luda Mae nodded as she pocketed her lighter and headed back inside. “Haul up as much as you feel like cookin’ when you get home, child. I’ll stop to ask Wilma if they wanna come over, and lend a hand when I get there.”

“Okay, Momma.”

Luda Mae sighed and puffed on the cigarette, tweaking a few goods on the shelves as she went. She heard Amarie call out a greeting to Charlie. All she wanted to do was sit down, but she would have to get Thomas started on the last thing first.

The patrol car rolled up outside, the tires crunching over the gravel and dirt as it left the road to stop beyond the old gas pumps. One of its doors opened but didn’t close. The engine was still running.

“Sheriff Hoyt?” Amarie called again from outside. “Momma!”

Frowning, wondering what her brother had done to shock the girl, Luda Mae headed back to the door. “What is it, child?”

Through the door, she saw her brother’s back in his sheriff’s uniform and hat walking past the passenger side toward Amarie. Her daughter started to back away from him. Pushing up her glasses, Luda Mae squinted to see with the bright sunlight outside nearly blinding her and the rusted screen not helping a bit.

Then the passenger got out, and her daughter screamed as both people lunged and grabbed Amarie.

Gasping, Luda Mae’s cigarette hit the floor when she opened her mouth to yell. “Thomas! Thomas Brown Hewitt!” She bolted outside, the screen door slamming behind her. “Oh my God, stop! Amarie!”

The man in uniform was not her brother, he was far too young. As she ran around the pumps to reach them, he and a woman in a suit shoved Amarie into the backseat of a Plymouth Belvedere patrol car, just like her brother’s.

Inside the store, her daughter’s screams were answered. The roar of the chainsaw drowned out every other sound as her son charged through the old building.

Luda Mae grabbed at the man’s arm, but he pushed her back against one of the pumps. “Stop! Amarie! Thomas, get ‘em! They’re takin’ her!”

The man yelled at the woman as he slammed the back door shut. “Get in the car, Doctor! Fuck me runnin’, he’ll be on us in a second!”

Behind them, the chainsaw destroyed the screen door. Thomas roared with the machine, raising it high over his head as he rushed up to the car.

Luda Mae ducked behind the pumps, clinging to the last one. Her eyes darted to the car door, to the painted words and emblem moments before the chainsaw blade hit the roof and shattered the passenger side window.

The woman inside the car cursed and screamed. The man darted around the back, jumped in, and the car lurched out of park and careened into a sharp swerve to get back to the road. Gravel, dirt, and dust showered them as its rear end swayed, the driver’s door yawning open before slamming shut as the car straightened out.

Luda Mae watched in horror as Amarie’s face appeared at the back window, her fists beating at the glass, mouth open in a scream.

Thomas kept after it, the chain blade eating a bite out of the trunk door. The patrol car shot off, the blade clipping the bumper in a shower of sparks as it escaped. Swinging the machine wildly, he screamed in pain as it nicked his calf, but he kept running after the car, until he disappeared from sight in the rising dust cloud.

As the dust washed over her, Luda Mae sank down onto her knees against the pump. Clutching her stomach, one hand over her mouth, she began to sob. In the distance, the roar of the chainsaw rumbled on, her son’s agonized guttural cries blending with it.

Forcing herself to breathe, she struggled to stand. The phone was in the store. Charlie was out there somewhere. Sobbing and choking on dust, she stumbled to the door. Half of it was hanging in pieces; the other half had been ground away and thrown several feet into the sparse dry grass. She stepped through the mangled mess carefully and made her way to the phone, her fingers trembling as she lifted the receiver.

“My baby... Oh, my little girl, no...”

**************************************************

Thomas kept running, one leg wet below the knee. He ran until the dust cloud settled, and the car, just like his uncle’s car, was gone. No lights flashed, no siren brayed. The road stretched out before him, empty and quiet.

_Gone, gone … where?_

The wet leg stumbled and he fell sharply to his knees, barely avoiding landing on the chainsaw. He thrust it out away from him and didn’t care that it sputtered on the road, eating up shards of the old asphalt before it died. The shards hit him and some of them cut, but he didn’t notice.

She had screamed for him, screamed his name. Her palms pressed to the glass, her mouth open wide, she had begged him to help. The dust had swallowed him up; it had gotten in his eyes, his mouth, his cries sucking some of it down his throat. It had hidden them from him, and now they were gone.

He slumped forward, thoughts shredded by rage and loss.

 _Pain. Pain..._ Letting go of the machine, his fingers groped for the rip in his pants, low on the leg. _Wet, and pain..._ Finding the slash in his flesh, his fingers dug into it. The pain bloomed and he hissed.

Muscles cramped, but he didn’t move until he heard a car behind him. Growling, he turned and scraped his knees roughly on the road to reach for the chainsaw.

Out of the dust it kicked up around him, a car with a flashing light on top rolled to a stop. He grasped the cord as the door opened and a man got out.

“Tommy! Did you see which way they went? I’m talkin’ to you, boy!”

Thomas let his fingers slip away from the machine. He hadn’t noticed he’d run as far as the place where the two roads, one gray and one brown, crossed. His hand shook as he lifted it to answer his uncle’s angry voice. Trembling thick fingers pointed down the longer road, the gray road.

“Motherfuckin’ cocksuckers.”

His uncle’s boots sounded behind him as Thomas dropped his chin to his heaving chest. He winced at the touch of the hand on his shoulder. He wanted to find her, get her back, kill them … but they were gone. She … was gone.

“Get up, son, now. We gotta get Momma and fix you up. Then we’ll sort out what’s what.”

Thomas growled but the hard fingers gripped him, the voice a bark of authority that cut through despair and sparked fear.

“I said now, boy – don’t you disobey me or I’ll box your ears good. Get up and get in the car. You cain’t walk all that way, you’ll fall over. We’re gonna find your sister again, you just wait and see – but I need to think and I need to talk it over with Momma.” The fingers released him and the boots walked away.

Thomas looked up and watched him go to the open door of the car. Glancing back down the road, he let out a moan.

“C’mon, Tommy – hurry up. Put your little buddy in the trunk and let’s go.”

~ ~ ~

He closed his eyes – he hated the car, the noise, the movement. His mother’s voice called out as the motion stopped. She spoke to him but the words made no sense; they were lost as the noise resumed.

Thomas bolted out when the car stopped again. It was the house, and she wasn’t there.

“Leave that thing in the trunk, boy, and follow Momma; go to the kitchen and sit. We’re gonna patch you up.”

“Charlie, I saw ‘em, it was a young sheriff, I think it was the Hadley boy. He had a woman with him; he called her ‘doctor’.”

“Catch a markin’ on the car?”

“Yes. It was ‘Sheriff o’ Travis County’. Charlie, how can we get her? Can you find her?”

 _Her. Sister..._ Thomas felt the heat rise again until it burned in his head. _Gone … gone..._ He drew a deep breath and roared out his rage and grief. He wanted them to hurt, all of them – but his hands were empty.

“Tommy, hold on now! Watch out, Momma!”

He bulled past them and ran to the haphazard grouping of vehicles and motorcycles left over from the cattle that had come to feed his family. Picking up a shovel that was propped against a van, he roared again and swung it, crashing it down onto the cracked windshield of a truck.

“Tommy!”

“Hold up, Momma, let him be a moment. Poor fucker.”

Over and over he swung the heavy tool, denting metal and smashing glass. He could hear his uncle’s voice shouting, but none of the words mattered.

“Look at him go, Momma! All we gotta do is find her. Bust that shit up, boy! Hot damn, we’ll do it. We’re gonna fuckin’ do it! Tommy, you beautiful bastard!”

The shovel head punched through glass. It cracked and crazed, showing him a multifaceted prism of color before it collapsed into the vehicle.

_Find her, get her … and kill... Kill the meat that took her. Kill the meat..._


	12. Gone

**Deputy Hadley:** Her mother-in-law described the rings correctly, they are Dodie Connor’s. I cain’t hold out much hope that neither one o’ ‘em are alive, but the girl won’t say a thing, one way or ‘nother. If she’d rub two words together –

 **Dr. Wincott:** She had plenty to say in the back of your car.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Miss Trambler appears to have Stockholm syndrome.

 **Dr. Wincott:** With all due respect, Doctor, I’m not sure it’s that simple. Why did she have the rings? She cried and begged to keep them. She didn’t behave like a rescued prisoner, she sounded like a kidnapped girl – kidnapped by us.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** I believe Stockholm syndrome explains all of that, Dr. Wincott.

 **Dr. Wincott:** Maybe, maybe not. Here’s my report, Doctor. As you’ll see, she’ll need to remain in the medical wing here. She can’t be moved to the asylum.

 **Deputy Hadley:** Why’s that?

 **Dr. Wincott:** Miss Trambler is pregnant.

 **Deputy Hadley:** Oh, great. She’d be ‘bout sixteen by now, right? That poor girl...

 **Dr. Wincott:** Dr. Sorrel is willing to take her on and work with us. He’s a little set in his ways, but has a great reputation for dealing with traumatized patients.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Miss Trambler will receive the best care, but we must all proceed with caution in speaking to her. She will likely show loyalty to her captors, and we must help her to see the truth.

 **Dr. Wincott:** ‘The truth’ can be subjective, Doctor.

**************************************************

Amarie sat huddled on the floor in the back corner, staring at the door across the white room. The thin cotton thing she’d been given to wear after they had done things to her barely covered her folded legs. Her hair was still damp and her arm hurt. She sniffed and held herself tightly, her mind whirling with the horror of being snatched away from her family.

She had greeted Uncle Hoyt, but the man that had gotten out of the car was a young man, a stranger. The woman had helped him overpower her, even though she had fought like an angry cat. They had thrown her into the back of the car and taken off, scrambling to get away from her brother.

 _Tommy..._ He had attacked them, the chainsaw chewing up the trunk and bumper of the car, but it had gotten away from him. _He must be so hurt and confused … like me. They’re gone…_ Even if she could get away, she had no idea how to find the town again. Fresh tears fell on the dried tracks of older tears. _I lost ‘em… Oh, Tommy…_

~ ~ ~

“Good morning, Miss Trambler. I want to introduce you to Dr. Sorrel, your obstetrician.”

Amarie looked up, glaring at both men.

“Dr. Ambrel, perhaps I should have a talk with her alone,” the heavier man in the white coat said. “I’ve read the file and your report and notes. Now you must let me do my job.”

She watched them closely, but couldn’t understand many of the words they said to each other. When the thinner man in the fancy suit left, she was glad. He was the one who had sent the others to take her away.

The heavy man closed the door after letting the nurse in and sending the other man away. The nurse perched in the chair by the window and balanced a pad of paper on her knees, a pen held ready over it. The doctor moved around the untouched bed and stood near the nurse, in front of the window. He tucked a yellow paper of some sort under one arm and clasped his thick fingers in front of him.

“Would you rather be called Amarie?”

“Y-yes,” she whispered. Swallowing, she added, “Amarie Hewitt, Mrs. Hewitt.”

“Trambler is your maiden name? I see. Who is your husband?”

“Thomas Brown Hewitt.”

“Would you prefer Amarie or Mrs. Hewitt?”

“Don’t care, just wanna go home. They forced me to be here, shoved me in the car. Make ‘em take me back.”

“Amarie, how old are you?”

She glared up at him.

“The information we have is that you are now sixteen, and in Texas, that means you can’t be legally married without parental or legal guardian permission – which you did not have. It’s also illegal to put you in the condition you’re in.”

“What condition? Illegal to kidnap me, too...”

“Illegal to make you pregnant, Amarie; according to our records, Thomas Hewitt is at least thirty, about fifteen years older than you. Are you certain he didn’t force you?”

“Didn’t force me, he saved my life, over and over. I wanted to be with him. He saved me from Frankie and his gang.” She fidgeted, torn between wanting to keep silent and wanting this man to understand that she needed to go home.

“Who is Frankie?”

“I left home with Frankie, on his bike, but he let his gang hurt me. Tommy saved me.”

“Where are Frankie and his gang now?”

Amarie hesitated, glanced at the nurse, then back up at him. “Gone, they left. Tommy scared ‘em off.”

“I see. Forgive my bluntness, Amarie, but was it Hewitt’s idea to have sex with him?”

She let out a nervous laugh. “No, I had to court him a while, he didn’t know nothin’.”

“How did you know what to do? How to court him?”

“Frankie did it, but before that, my father did. They both did it to me.”

“Your father...” He looked at the nurse, who was scribbling away. Taking the yellow paper, he looked at it. “Your foster father?”

“Yes... He always made me do things and he did lotsa things to me. When Frankie came, I wanted to go off with him. Then he didn’t turn out as nice as he seemed. He let his gang do the same things to me, and they hurt me...”

“What about Thomas Hewitt? Does he hurt you?”

“No! He’s sweet and good, and he saved me! I love him!” Her hands clenched into fists in the cloth over her legs, her tears falling again. “I just wanna go home!”

“To your husband?”

“Yes! Lemme go! Please!”

“All right, Amarie, calm down, please... We aren’t going to harm you.”

“Already harmed me...” She bit her bottom lip and fell silent.

~ ~ ~

“We can’t send you home, Miss Trambler, as that place is not your home. Do you wish to see your mother?” The thin doctor watched her closely, pen poised over paper.

“Momma Hewitt?”

“No, your foster mother, Judith – she has been requesting to see you.”

“Don’t wanna see her, not my mother.” The door opened and Amarie looked up, hoping to see the heavy doctor, but it was the woman – the one who had helped kidnap her. “Go away.” Amarie buried her head in her arms on her knees when the woman came in, leaving the door open.

“Dr. Ambrel, where is the nurse?” she asked, frowning.

“She was on her way; I began without her.”

“The girl is underage and pregnant, Doctor, and she has made a statement that her foster father sexually abused her, and the foster mother knew it. Further, she stated she was raped by other men. The presence of a female in the room is –”

“I’m well aware of that, Dr. Wincott. Miss Trambler appears to dislike the nurse and will barely speak with her here.”

“Why don’t we try a different female, then? Let me talk to her. I’ll take notes.”

Amarie had lifted her head just enough to peek at them. The thin doctor looked annoyed and that made her smirk.

“Very well, see that you do, and meet me in my office afterward.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

He left, shutting the door behind him. Amarie watched the woman cross the room. She was surprised when she sat on the bed. None of the others had done that. The floor was hard and cold, but she felt better with her back to the corner. Every time they put her in that bed after doing things to her, she left it the moment they were out of the room.

The woman picked up and held a folded white blanket in her lap, her fingers stroking it. She didn’t stare like the others.

“I’m sorry about that, Amarie; for a man with his IQ, Dr. Ambrel can sometimes be an idiot. Are you cold?”

Amarie nodded.

“Catch.”

Surprised, Amarie caught the blanket as it was tossed to her. It had unfolded halfway in the air. Wrapping the blanket around her back, over her lap, and tucking it under her legs, she watched the woman warily from the warm white mound of it.

“You don’t like the nurse, but really you don’t like Dr. Ambrel, do you?”

“Don’t like you neither. I wanna go home, my real home.”

“Do you know where that is?”

“No... It’s your fault, you and that other sheriff! Y’know where, take me back!” Her knuckles flashed white as she gripped the blanket.

“Other sheriff? You thought we were someone you knew...”

Amarie turned her head away. “You won’t help me. You can all go to Hell.”

“I do want to help you, Amarie. Was his name Hoyt – or Charlie Hewitt?”

“You just wanna get ‘em in trouble. Not gonna tell you nothin’.”

“The pills they give you, or make you take – those are to help your baby. You want to help your baby, don’t you?”

“Go away.”

“You know you do. I do, too. I knew Tommy Hewitt.”

Amarie glared up at her. “He didn’t look like he knew you.”

The woman smiled, a nice smile, not a smirk. “He doesn’t remember me. I knew him when I was a young girl, just a year younger than you are now. I’m from Fuller, I grew up there.”

“Those men talk like he’s some animal, he ain’t! He’s sweet and kind. He didn’t hurt me, he didn’t do nothin’ wrong!”

“They think differently than we do. They can’t understand Tommy Hewitt and they never will. Let me tell you something, Amarie; I’m going to trust you with a secret, but you must not tell Dr. Ambrel, or any of them.”

Meeting her gaze, Amarie studied her, wishing she was smart like her uncle and mother. She couldn’t tell if the woman really cared or if she was lying to get something. Amarie nodded slowly.

“Dr. Ambrel wants to catch your husband and bring him here. He thinks there are many things wrong with him, with his mind. He wants to keep him in a place like this and try to change him.”

“Tommy don’t need to be changed and they couldn’t make him do nothin’.”

“Will he come after you, to get you back?”

Hopelessness filled her at that question; it made Amarie shudder. She didn’t know if Uncle Hoyt could find her, but she knew it would be more than Tommy could manage. “Tommy wants me back, but he’s too ... simple to do it.”

“That man, the sheriff, who took you – he is going to go back to Fuller and look around. If he lets me go with him again, I could help you, but you need to help me, too.”

“Take me? Please, I gotta go back...” Tears threatened again but she tried to fight them down. “If you take me back, I’ll help you.”

“You can help me just by giving me a lock of your hair.”

Frowning, Amarie glared at her again. “What for?”

“Never mind about that now.”

“If I do, you gotta take me back.” Remembering how they had poked and prodded her by force, two big women holding her still, she shuddered again. “Why don’t you just take it? Nobody asks me, they take.”

“I’m not like that. I had to help that sheriff, but I am asking you – I want you to decide this. Will you trade me?”

“You’ll take me back?”

The woman wrote on the paper quickly for a few minutes. “Getting you back may take some work, and time.”

Crushed, knowing it had to be a lie, Amarie slumped in her corner. “What are you writin’ ‘bout me?” She recoiled when the woman hopped off of the bed and approached her, but as the paper was held out for her to see, she couldn’t resist looking at it.

“Can you read that? Do you think it sounds right?”

Amarie read it and gasped. Staring up at her, she whispered, “Yes, but –”

“It’s a secret,” the woman interrupted. “Right? You have to promise.”

“Yes...”

“Say, ‘Yes, Dr. Wincott, I promise...’”

“Yes, Dr. Wincott, I promise.”

“Now if they ask about your family, tell them you’ll only talk to me. Yes?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“As I said, this may take some work, and you and your baby also need care, which will take time. I’m going to ask you to cooperate more with Dr. Sorrel and his staff, for the sake of the baby.”

“But, how much time...?”

“At least a few months, maybe more.”

“No, I cain’t, I need to go home now!”

“Hush… If you go home now, this won’t work. Fuller is a ghost town and we have to think of your baby. You have good care here and the baby needs more time to grow.” She waited until Amarie slumped again to continue. “All right, then.” The woman tore the piece of paper she had written on off of the sheet and pulled a small scissors from the pocket of her jacket. “May I have a lock of your hair, Amarie?”

Taking a deep breath, Amarie nodded. _She might be lyin’, but I dunno what else I can do._

**************************************************

Luda Mae was silent as her brother drove her to the store. She fought back tears because she had cried for days and it didn’t help a thing.

A new screen door Charlie had made was sticking out of the trunk, wobbling as they went down the bumpy road.

“You be careful, Momma, and stick to that phone. I’ll keep close after I fix the door, and you tell Uncle Monty to hail me if you even smell dust kicked up down the road. If that Hadley asshole comes sniffin’ ‘round, you holler and hide.”

Luda Mae nodded, her eyes wet. “How can we find her if they don’t come back ‘round?”

Charlie pulled up in front of the pumps and stopped the car. She got out more slowly than he did.

Spitting tobacco juice in the dirt, he wiped his chin with his hand. “I gotta feelin’ Hadley might. If they make her talk at all, they could be stupid ‘nuff to come after us.”

“How many, do you think?”

Charlie met her worried gaze and shook his head. He knew as well as she did they could only handle so many at once.

“Help me haul this door out, and then I can get it.”

“What if Tommy forgets? If it takes too long and they never come...”

“He remembers her, I know he does, Momma. He won’t forget and we won’t neither. Somebody will come.”

She helped him hang the new screen door and after he checked on the generator out back, he got in the car again and started it up.

“Don’t wanna use up what’s left in the pumps, but if I catch any o’ ‘em bikers, and they got ‘nuff gas, I could make ‘nother run outta town, maybe even try as far as Austin.”

“Not sure it’s worth the risk – not with just me and Monty left here while Tommy’s so outta his senses.”

“Well there’s ways to curb that, too. If I catch sight o’ Tommy, I’ll send him back here. Damn fool’s gonna roast his brains out there, or get shot, dependin’ on how brave any visitors get.”

“Did you tell him we need to be able to talk to the Hadley boy if he comes back?”

“Yeah, I told him. Told him I’d box his ears and kick his ass if he broke him past talkin’, too.” With a nod to her, he put his sunglasses on and drove off.

Just to check up on Monty, Luda Mae headed inside and went to the phone. When she got there, she froze. A piece of folded up paper was sticking out of a pack of cigarettes next to the register. The pack was nearly empty, and it wasn’t hers. On the floor nearby was a crushed cigarette butt – the same brand.

Snatching up the pack, she fished out the paper and carefully unfolded it. With a gasp, she dropped them both and reached for the phone with trembling hands, her heart in her throat.

“Uncle Monty, tell Charlie to get on back to the store, please – and hurry.”

~ ~ ~

“Ever heard o’ her?”

Luda Mae frowned. “I’m not sure, but the Masons had a daughter that left town young.”

The torn piece of paper lay on the counter between them. Charlie held in his fingers the lock of soft blonde hair tied with a bit of string that had been folded inside the paper. The handwriting was fancy, written in blue ink.

“Cassandra Mason, Dr. Cassandra Wincott,” Charlie muttered, rolling the lock of hair between his fingertips. “Could be true and still be a trap.”

“We gotta get Amarie back. She must be so scared...”

Handing the lock of hair to her, Charlie took the note. “I’ll go check out that house she claims is hers. It wasn’t the Mason’s place. It belonged to that old doctor that used to look at Tommy’s face.”

“Not that he ever helped him none.”

Charlie rapped his knuckles on the counter and then grinned. “A trap can be turned, Momma. This skirt wants somethin’, and when they want somethin’, that gives us leverage.”

Luda Mae nodded absently, but as her brother walked to the door, she grabbed the store keys and followed. “Take me with you, I wanna see the place.”

He nodded. “C’mon then, might be safer anyhow.”

The doctor’s place was a house, not a farm, with barely enough land for a little vegetable garden out back. It had a dirty and peeling white picket fence around the front yard that a dog could jump and Charlie could step over. Luda Mae walked down to the open gate that hung in pieces. The walkway to the front porch was overgrown.

“This woman may have bought the place, but she didn’t bother to keep it up.”

Charlie snorted; his boots were loud on the sagging and creaking porch steps. “City folks,” he muttered, as if it was a curse.

The door was locked, but one hard shove of his shoulder popped it easy. They stepped in cautiously, but the floorboards inside were in better shape than the porch. The house was festooned in spider webs and covered in dust, but there were plenty of windows to let in the morning sun.

Charlie picked up a cane from a corner stand by the door and passed it to her. “Take hold o’ that, Momma and smack any damn thing that moves – long as it ain’t me. You check this floor, I’ll go poke ‘round upstairs.”

Luda Mae nodded but as soon as she headed toward the kitchen, she paused. The webs were thick everywhere, but at the kitchen entrance, a big one was broken. Raising the wooden cane in front of her, she walked through it.

The place looked like every other house in Fuller that they had searched for supplies over a year ago. Little was left in them unless it was too big to haul off, nailed down, or useless. On the counter by the rusted sink, an upside-down broken teacup caught her eye. She went over to it and gasped when she looked down at the dusty counter.

A finger had scrawled words in the dust over the cracked and yellowed surface. Two of the words spelled out “Sheriff Hoyt”.

“Charlie! Come quick!”

His boots rattled down the stairs. When he found her, she pointed to the message.

“‘Sheriff Hoyt, up in the barn.’ What in the hell...?”

“This place ain’t gotta barn.” Luda Mae held the cane against her chest. “Maybe the tool shed out back?”

“Up in the barn,” Charlie repeated. “Up might could mean a hayloft.” He looked at her and grinned. “Mason farm’s gotta huge barn, with a hayloft. C’mon, Momma – keep that cane handy. We need to go up the road a piece.”

“Oh, my, my...”

~ ~ ~

The patrol car kicked up a rooster tail of dust behind it as they drove through the open gate at the Mason farm. Rounding past the house in front, Charlie drove right up to the big wooden barn. It was a heap of weathered gray wood and rusted nail heads, its wide double doors shut, but not chained. They got out and looked around.

“What ‘bout that trap you mentioned?” Luda Mae asked, holding her cane up.

Her brother’s only response was to draw his gun and place one finger on his lips to hush her.

She moved to stand behind the patrol car. Watching him open the left-hand door while standing behind it, she put a hand over her mouth. She tensed as he disappeared inside.

When his laughter rang out, the breath she hadn’t noticed she was holding came out as a sigh of relief.

“See here, Momma ... looks like we may just have us an ally.”

Luda Mae hurried inside the barn and found him up in the hayloft. She had no interest in trying to go up the ladder. “What is it?”

“Treasure.” His grin was back. “I’ll take you home and then go find Tommy and get him to help me lug this haul back.”

“Charlie, what’s up there?”

He went back to the ladder and started to climb down it. When he reached her, he held her shoulders and smiled. “It’s boxes o’ stuff – medicines, blankets, supplies – and baby stuff.”

“What in the world?”

Charlie winked at her and strolled out of the barn. “Miss Mason wants somethin’, Momma – and she’s willin’ to trade for it.”

“You mean – Amarie?”

“That niece o’ mine’s the only trade I’m gonna take for this.”

Confused, but daring to hope for the first time in a long time, Luda Mae followed him out and got into the car. “Lemme come help you with Tommy.”

“Not this time, Momma. Your boy’s not doin’ so good; best you lemme handle him for now.”

**************************************************

The distant roar of motors came closer, down the gray road – two of them. Thomas pressed his back against the car door, the machine ready in his hands. The meat hanging out of the car on the other side spoke words, calling for help as the others rode up.

By the sound of their laughter as they stopped their motors, Thomas knew they weren’t the kind that would try to help. He twitched when the meat screamed – they had pulled it from the car.

“Check under the seats this time,” a male called out.

Opening a back door, another male shouted, “Smell that! Ooo-wee! This hippie got the good stuff!”

Thomas waited for the second one to enter the car before he moved behind them and ripped at the cord, roaring as the machine sputtered to life. Their shouts sang with the machine as it severed an arm, the metal weapon firing into the dirt as the limb dropped.

Turning, he lunged at the open back door. The meat there scrambled to reach another weapon, but the whirring blade got there first. He thrust it into the chest, hearing ribs pop as they were ground away. Pushing it deeper, he didn’t stop until the blade caught on the closed door behind.

A scrape of leather on gravel sounded as the machine stalled. Leaving the car, he set it down on the ground as he sat on the other body. It had crawled to reach the arm. Picking up the limb, he ignored the clunk of the metal falling and threw it at the car.

Beneath him, the meat screamed. Rage made his fingers shake as he gripped both sides of its head. Lifting it up, he slammed it back down onto the gravel-strewn old road. It took three times before the noises stopped.

~ ~ ~

“You done real good, Tommy – real damn good.”

He watched his uncle use the tube and the can. When he filled it, he emptied it into his car. The praise given fell flat. The pleasure he might have felt in helping was buried under loss.

“Don’t just sit there, son, help me stuff this into the trunk.”

He got up with a grunt and grabbed the limb his uncle was trying to drag the meat by, and used it to haul it up. He dropped it into the open trunk and then went back for the rest, leaving the smaller pieces for his uncle to carry.

“You gonna come home for supper? We damn near got ‘nuff gas for a real shot.”

Looking away from him, Thomas picked up a hand and sniffed at the severed end. Retrieving the machine, he walked back to the car to sit behind it. One hand on the machine, he held the meat in the other and sucked on one of its fingers.

Boots crunching, his uncle moved into view to look down at him, but Thomas didn’t look up.

“Aight, have it your way, for now. Tomorrow, if we cain’t find anymore, I’ll need you to come home. Momma’s been askin’ ‘bout you.”

When the car drove away, he bit into the meat. The cooling blood dribbled down the chin of his mask, and the little bones were everywhere. Spitting one out, he turned his head to stare down the gray road – but it was empty again.

~ ~ ~

Stomping down the basement stairs, Thomas splashed through the water pooled at the bottom. The work table and metal wheel were the same, and all the hooks held meat. Ignoring it all, he went to his bed and set the machine on its little table.

Under the blanket, a small form lay, still and quiet. He crawled onto the bed and curled up close. Fumbling under the blankets, he opened his belt and pants. He reached out and gently took the slender wrist and slid the chilled hand inside against his swelling skin.

It didn’t move, didn’t grasp or stroke. No voice soothed, and no burst of pleasure gave release. Frustrated, he rolled onto it, thrusting his hips at it. The wrist caught in his pants and broke. He whimpered as the hand fell back, flopping against the arm; the flesh was still connected. Pulling the blanket away from the face, he stared at it. The skin had turned black and the joints were stiff.

The white cloth he’d wrapped around the head was loose and the dark hair poked out. The mouth was open, stuck that way. Leaning down over it, he drew the body into his arms and moaned.

At a sound behind him, he flinched and growled, only quieting when his uncle spoke.

“What the fuck are you up to, boy?”

The tone of the words made him duck his head to hide.

“This your new doll to play with? We’re gonna get your sister back, Tommy. Yeah, it’s takin’ a while, but we will; we’re almost ready. Here, lemme help you. Mine went cold, too, so I know what I’m doin’. Shove off it a minute and roll it over.”

Thomas moved and watched, bemused, as he put it on its face.

His uncle grabbed a piece of wood from the floor and pushed it underneath. Humming a sound under his breath, he grasped the knees and pulled them open, then moved off of the bed and sat on the edge of the tub.

“There you go, boy – knock yourself out. Cold’s almost as good as warm in a pinch.” Slapping his hands on his thighs after a few moments, he got up. “Since when did you get shy? After all the fuckin’ you two did upstairs and in the yard, it’s a wonder. Supper’s gonna be ready in a couple hours. Don’t make me call twice.”

When the metal door slammed shut, Thomas cautiously reached out to touch the special place, the place that gave release. It was cold and the flesh felt strange. Shuddering, he lay beside it instead and pulled it into his arms again. Slow at first, and then faster, his hips thrust, rubbing himself on the chilled leg. It wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t her … but it might be enough.

When the hot liquid came, messing up the clothes and bed, he fell still. After a while, it cooled too. Moaning low in his throat, he shoved at the corpse so hard that it tumbled out of the bed. The wood that had been under it rang as it struck the tub. In the dim light, the mouth was still stiff and opened wide. It couldn’t come and suckle.

Rolling onto his back, he stared at the boards of the floor above, his hands twitching now and then on his stomach.

_Want her ... want sister..._

Curling over onto his side, he pulled a wad of cloth from under the pillow and laid his head on it. His fingers stroked it, poking in the slash where she had let him cut her the last time. The cloth of the dress was yellow and green, slightly stained, and chilled.

_Want her..._

Groping under the pillow again, he found the little knife. Flicking it open with his thumb, he pricked his skin through the shirt he wore and drew the blade down in a long and deepening cut. It gave little relief, and the wound did not sing.


	13. Beyond the Bounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been fighting writer's block for a while now on how to handle the next scenes in this story. I got so stumped, that I decided to try my old trick of working on something else in the hope that inspiration would strike. Today, I rewatched the "Texas Chainsaw Massacre: Beginning" movie and I've been listening to the soundtrack on repeat while trying on a few ideas I got while working on my Sabretooth stories. I've finally hit on how to do this, and it involves adding quite a bit more to the end of this chapter. I'm going to put a warning at the front of chapter fourteen letting readers know that they need to re-read the end of Tommy's section here before starting the new chapter. I'm about to write the new part at the end here, and I hope to re-post this chapter today. If all goes well, I plan to write chapter fourteen and post it - soon. After that, only two chapters will remain. Sorry for the delay and thank you so much for your understanding and patience. - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)

**Deputy Hadley:** Ain’t you afraid he’ll come get her?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** That man is too mentally ill to accomplish such a thing.

 **Dr. Wincott:** I agree. I see no reason to go back there, now; not until you are able to arrest them all. Have you told others of that plan and where they are, yet?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Not yet.

 **Deputy Hadley:** What ‘bout the file you started on Miss Trambler? Don’t it say where we got her? My report did.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** All in good time. I will turn over all of our findings when I am sure we will get the support and manpower we need. Although, I still object to allowing the girl to keep that baby; she will never be a fit mother.

 **Dr. Wincott:** We needed the good will of Dr. Sorrel, and he is Catholic. The baby will be put up for adoption, as we promised him.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Leave my name out of that, Dr. Wincott. The baby may have many problems inherited from the father; I can’t recommend anything beyond foster care.

 **Deputy Hadley:** We need to know what they’re doin’ in Fuller. I can go out there again; I might could spot the Hewitts, see if I can find any more evidence o’ the Connors tanglin’ with ‘em. If I know the others ain’t home, maybe I could make Old Monty talk. I can say I’m lookin’ for Sheriff Winston Hoyt, tell him I saw his car drivin’ ‘round.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Patience, David. We are still assembling our team for treating Thomas Hewitt. I have gotten the assurances of three of the people you suggested, Dr. Wincott. Your specialists and that nurse you recommended.

 **Dr. Wincott:** Thank you, Doctor. As soon as they arrive and can see Miss Trambler, we can really begin. I will have the group session with her arranged; she has agreed to try to answer their questions. She could have simply stolen those rings. Perhaps the team can find out more.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Excellent. We should be able to move on Hewitt soon.

 **Deputy Hadley:** Honestly, Doc? I don’t see how you’re gonna get him, if you don’t believe me ‘bout how dangerous that whole family is. Charlie Hewitt probly murdered Sheriff Hoyt; his nephew is just a wild bull compared to that creep. A wild bull that probly murdered your uncle, though, in case you forgot.

 **Dr. Wincott:** Country rumors are not facts. The young Thomas Hewitt I met years ago was being terrorized by your own brother and his cronies. He didn’t even fight back.

 **Deputy Hadley:** My dead brother, ma’am – killed by an act o’ arson at the school. Thomas Hewitt likely set that fire. Do I gotta remind you that he attacked us and my patrol car with a chainsaw?

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Enough, both of you. We all have much to do to prepare; I suggest we begin in earnest.

**************************************************

 

She stared out the window, her thoughts far from the hospital. Beyond the Austin city limits, heading south, the dusty road led home. Tears gathered in her eyes as she rested on her back in the bed. Her hand stroked over her swollen belly.

Dr. Ambrel had come in again but she ignored him, as she had for months. He and the deputy sheriff were from there, from home, like Dr. Wincott. They had run away when the times got bad, as most of the people who had lived in that tiny Texas town for generations had. The jobs had gone and the people followed the jobs – but not all of them … not quite.

The deputy hadn’t been there for a few days but whenever he came, he flirted with the pretty nurse who always stayed in the room while they were there. She appeared to like it; perhaps she thought the young man was handsome? Now the nurse frowned at Dr. Ambrel as she worked on her report behind him. Did she hate him … or her? Amarie had learned that most people in white jackets and uniforms were bad news and too clever to fool, most of the time. She was glad the deputy hadn’t come.

Whenever Dr. Sorrel came in, Amarie would speak, answer questions, and tell him how she felt today – if he stuck to business. If he called her Mrs. Hewitt again, she would smile. That other name, the one Dr. Ambrel and the deputy used, meant nothing to her. If they called her that, they could go to hell.

Dr. Wincott had made them move the bed near the window for her after asking her to remain in it and rest – for the baby. Dr. Sorrel was the man who refused to let them take her baby before it was born. She didn’t know how they could, but Dr. Wincott told her it would be killed if they did.

The others who came in to see her were awful. The skinny old nurse had said her family was a pack of animals when she had cried over them taking away her wedding rings. The two men who always asked about her brother just frightened her. One of them had even touched her chest when no one else was looking.

_Ain’t no use in tellin’ this awful man; he only wants me to say stuff that would get Tommy in trouble._

“Miss Trambler, I can’t help you unless you talk to me.” When she stared at her hand where the rings had been, Dr. Ambrel got cross again. “You know the Connors died, don’t you? Did you see them at that house? Their families are upset that they can’t ever get them back.”

 _Dr. Wincott wants me to say I stole ‘em, but I’m no thief. Tommy will get me new weddin’ rings, if I ever get home._ The thought made her start to cry again. To soothe herself, she sang softly about mockingbirds to the baby in her belly.

“I wish you would try to trust me,” Dr. Ambrel spoke again. “Would you please stop singing? I’m not here to condemn anyone, or judge – I only want to understand what happened to you, to help you recover. Deputy Hadley needs to find a lot of missing people who were seen in or near Fuller, and we think you could help us with that, too, if you would. I’ve asked him to wait in the hope that you would tell me something – anything.”

The door opened and Dr. Sorrel stepped in. Amarie didn’t turn her head to look; she didn’t have to. His cologne was familiar by now, and the sound of his habitual low grunt of disapproval was also familiar, and comforting. She stopped singing – for him.

“Good afternoon, Amarie,” the heavy-set doctor greeted her. “How do you feel today?”

“Fine.”

“Dr. Sorrel, if I may,” Dr. Ambrel interrupted, “I need to speak with her. I can’t get the authorities to authorize a warrant without some kind of proof of what is going on in Fuller. Perhaps you could help –”

“I’m sorry, Doctor, but my patient has made it clear to me that she will not talk to you about Fuller, not at this time. I’ve given you many opportunities to change her mind, but I won’t have her badgered. For now, I’ll have to ask you to leave, sir.”

Amarie felt the tears in her eyes spill over down her cheeks. His voice was low, and it sparked memories. Her hands moved slowly again, stroking her belly. The baby wasn’t ready to come for a few months yet, but afterward, she would find a way to go home. Then she would show the baby to the people who had taught her about the only thing that mattered – family.

She remembered to smile when Dr. Wincott came in and dismissed the nurse. When Dr. Sorrel left after checking her, the woman remained. As soon as the door closed, Amarie dropped the smile and glared at her.

“What month is it now? Nobody here tells me nothin’.”

“Hello Amarie. It is mid-March. You and your baby are doing very well.”

“You said a couple months only.”

“Don’t you want the baby to be safe and healthy?”

Amarie sat up and hugged her belly. “I cain’t have it here. That mean old nurse told me they’ll take it away from me.”

“We won’t let that happen. You can go home soon, I promised. What do you think of the other new doctors? Are they nice to you?”

“Hate ‘em. That one with the droopy smile touched me.” She squeezed her left breast in the white cotton cover to show her. “Like that. He’s got that look – like he’d like to do more. If he tries, I’ll kick him!”

“I don’t blame you – I would, too. I’ll speak to Dr. Butler, don’t worry. What about Dr. Graham?”

“He’s just cold and mean. He looks at me like I’m trash.”

The woman came over and sat at the foot of the bed. Amarie scooted her feet up under the blankets.

“Dr. Graham and Dr. Butler used to be my therapists when I was a little girl, right after I moved here to Austin from Fuller. Nurse Brigham used to pinch my shoulder, hard enough to bruise, if I didn’t do what she said. It was Catholic school all over again.”

“What’s ‘catholic’?”

“Religion, a system of beliefs that is very old. Your foster parents are Protestant – they didn’t teach you anything else, I assume?”

“Didn’t teach me nothin’, ‘cept how t’ hurt a person.”

Well, I don’t blame you for not liking those doctors, or the nurse. I didn’t like them either but they did help me become the woman I am today.”

“Don’t wanna talk to ‘em, I just wanna go home, ma’am.”

“I know you do, Amarie. Now we have to talk about Thomas Hewitt, so that Dr. Ambrel will keep letting me see you alone. Last week you said that he can be led and controlled if you know how. Please tell me more about how to do it.”

“He’s gotta like you for that.”

“How do you get him to like you?”

Amarie smirked at her. “You gotta be family.”

“You weren’t born family, you became that. How?”

Breathing deeply and letting it out as a sigh, she shrugged. “Momma Hewitt got me into the family. She just … liked me.” Closing her eyes, she settled back down and tried to relax. “She loved me. She wanted me. They all did, after a while – even crabby old Uncle Monty. I ain’t never been loved like that. Never.”

“Uncle Monty? We haven’t talked about him yet. Tell me about him.”

“Well, he’s old – in a wheelchair cuz he ain’t got legs no more. He’s my momma’s uncle…”

**************************************************

The area behind the counter in the store was thick with smoke as Luda Mae puffed her third cigarette. She watched the young men, clean cut and cordial for once, who had driven up to ask for directions. They had been surprised to find out they could get gas there.

She didn’t bother to call Uncle Monty on the phone after they walked back out to their car. The freezer was full again and there were fewer mouths to feed anyway. Bowing her head at the thought, she sighed. The ache for her missing daughter hadn’t faded. Charlie would kill the men just to relieve his anger and frustration, and she didn’t have the stomach for it.

 _My poor sweet boy barely leaves the basement now, unless it’s to sit at the crossroads._ Her brother had ended up cuffing him on the shoulder to make him pay attention long enough to help move boxes out of the Mason hayloft. _His rages are gettin’ worse – I hope he don’t go after Charlie one o’ these days._

The men called out a greeting as another car rolled up. Hoping it wasn’t Charlie, she peered up and out through the screen door.

An old gray Chevy had pulled in and parked, and when a pretty blonde woman got out, Luda Mae froze. It was the Mason girl, the one who helped kidnap Amarie months ago. The note the woman had left on the counter after that was folded and tucked in her nightstand drawer at home, with the lock of her daughter’s hair.

Luda Mae moved to stand by the phone and waited. The men got in their car and drove away as the woman approached the store, the bell sounding as she came in.

“Hello? Mrs. Hewitt?”

“Unless you got my girl with you, this is no safe place for the likes o’ you, Mason.”

“I told you I would come and that I wanted to help. So here I am. Do you want my help to get her back?”

“Yes. Now you tell me why you wanna ‘help’. The truth, or my brother will get it outta you the hard way. He’d like you – far too much.”

“I want your help in return. I need your son and brother to do something for me.”

“Charlie said you wanted somethin’. Is my girl okay? Are she and the baby healthy?”

“She’s fine, they’re both healthy. She misses all of you.”

“Tell me where you took her.”

“A hospital in Austin.”

“Which? Where?”

“I can’t tell you that yet. I’ll give you that information soon, but not this trip. I need a guarantee I’ll leave here in one piece. I’d like to be friends … if we can be.”

Luda Mae held her cigarette and looked the woman over. The fancy suit and hairstyle made her look like she’d never lived in a place like Fuller. “We cain’t trust people like you – city folk who just wanna lock my son up and prod him with sticks.” She leaned over and spit on the floor beside her shoe.

The woman smiled and winked. “I’m a country girl at heart. I’ll send you proof, and the information you want. Maybe that will help us get friendlier. For now, I think I’ll go – just in case you already called Charlie Hewitt.”

“How are you gonna tell us where she is? Use a phone and let ‘em hear you talkin’ to us? Not even mail comes here now.”

“I told you, I’ll send it – special home delivery. Tell Uncle Monty to keep his cane handy.”

~ ~ ~

She finished up the dishes that night while her brother paced the kitchen floor. Monty slumped in his wheelchair at the end of the table, watching them both.

“Our hands are tied, Momma,” Charlie told her. “I keep goin’ out and try to look, ask ‘round. Probly too dangerous to keep at it if those assholes are also lookin’ for us.”

Monty snorted. “They could know every damn thing ‘bout us by now. How’d she know so much ‘bout me, huh?”

Luda Mae frowned when both men fell silent, watching her. She turned and leaned against the sink, drying her hands with a towel. “My precious girl wouldn’t tell those people ‘bout us.”

It took only an instant for Charlie to go from a cold calm to a white-hot rage. He punched the wall, leaving a dent in it without making a sound and then quickly settled again. Monty had instinctively looked away, frozen in place.

“I know, I know – they don’t seem to know nothin’ beyond the common crap. I just plain ran outta places to look, Momma. Nobody’s seen Amarie, or they ain’t tellin’. Why didn’t your new friend leave us gas cans? I got the gas to drive all the way to Austin again and back only once more. Without knowin’ where to go to find her, it’d be a bust.” He flopped against the wall and crossed his arms. “Tommy would draw attention an awful lot, too, even if I got him in the back to play prisoner.”

“We gotta get her home,” Luda Mae whispered. “My boy is so down and lost, he’ll barely eat.”

“I’m only posin’ as a sheriff out there. One bad run-in with real ones, and that’s the end o’ it. All o’ it.”

“The Mason woman said she’d send proof that she ain’t after us – promised she’d tell us where Amarie is, too.”

“The day I trust a city skirt, one that helped steal our girl…”

“We gotta try.”

Monty’s wheelchair squeaked and broke the silence as he moved off toward the living room. “If I can help, y’all lemme know. I miss that little gal, too.”

Luda Mae smiled through her tears. “You miss not doin’ the washin’.”

“Yeah, that, too,” he told her, and gave her a rare smile back.

~ ~ ~

The morning was cool as Luda Mae set out on foot across the fields to go to the store. Charlie had left earlier to hunt for travelers, after helping her order her son to stay home.

She turned her head toward the distant road when she heard a car coming. For a moment, she thought it was her brother returning far too soon – probably because his hunt had been successful. Then the memory of her daughter being kidnapped filled her with fear, and on instinct, she squatted down in the tall weeds before the car came into view.

 _It’s just Charlie’s Plymouth,_ she thought. As it went by, she squinted at it to see if there was anyone in the backseat. Glancing at the license plate, she frowned. _Charlie’s car is number 74-925._ The trunk and bumper had been damaged and repaired, a cheap fix. Staring at it as the car slipped out of sight again, she gasped. “It’s that Hadley boy.”

Struggling to her feet, she turned back toward home. She hoped Monty could handle him and prayed that he would see him driving up first and call Charlie in on the radio.

When she reached the house, she didn’t see the car right away. Then she spotted it – he had parked it around the back along the grass-grown dirt track that circled that end of the house and garage. Only a glint of metal was visible at the corner of the building. She didn’t see anyone. Then she heard Monty talking, but couldn’t make out what he said.

_Hadley might feel he can handle an old cripple in a wheelchair. If I walk in the front door, he could get spooked and he’s probly gotta gun on him. Monty will keep him in the hall, though, if he can._

She went around the back and up to the patrol car. As she remembered from the store that day, it was a 1965 Plymouth Belvedere just like Charlie’s, and it wasn’t locked. With a smile, she opened the driver’s door and popped the hood release.

Once she got the hood propped up and found the distributor cap, it only took a few moments to prise apart the two retaining clips and lift the cap off, just like Charlie had shown her. She pulled the wires from the cap and stuffed it into the wide pocket in front of her dress. Leaving the wires where they fell, she lowered the hood and shut it as quietly as she could.

Slipping into the kitchen through the back, she moved through the room to the opposite door that led to the main hall. She could hear Hadley talking now and Monty had him going good. Leaving the door shut, she pressed her ear to it.

“Done told you what room, she’s upstairs – go look for yourself, Sheriff.”

“I don’t trust you one bit and I cain’t drag you upstairs with me.”

“Don’t gotta drag me nowhere, just promise you’ll take me with you when you go. The chair can fit in the trunk. They cut off my legs, damn it! You gotta take me with you!”

“Mrs. Connor? Dodie Connor! Answer me if you can!”

“Aww, Sheriff, I’m sorry, but I expect that crazy coulda killed her. Ain’t heard a sound all mornin’ and I cain’t go up to see…”

“Shit. Stay right there, you hear me? If that chair makes one squeak, I’ll shoot you, do you understand that?”

“Yessir.”

Luda Mae listened for boots going up the stairs. When she heard him shout out up there, she cracked the door open. Monty turned his head and saw her. He grinned wolfishly at her solemn nod to him.

Shutting the door again, she moved away from it. It wasn’t hard to hear them now. _Tommy, you better be here… Please be here…_

“She’s dead, rot you; that sick freak tore her up bad! I gotta go – now. I’ll be back. Play dumb ‘til then. I’ll tell the others not to hurt you.” The boots started to stomp down the hall to the front doors.

“No, wait, Sheriff, please!” The harsh thump of Monty’s cane struck the floorboards. “You gotta help me, son! Come help me!”

With two more hard thumps of the cane, they all heard the roar beneath their feet. The Hadley boy yelled curses and fled the house, running around the corner outside to his car.

Luda Mae burst out of the kitchen. “Did you call Charlie?”

“Couldn’t get no chance!”

“Do it now!”

She grabbed Monty’s wheelchair and barely got him pulled back out of the way before Thomas erupted from the basement door, leaving it open behind him.

“Out back, Tommy, through the kitchen! Don’t kill him, you hear?” She left Monty alone and followed after her son. He jumped down the back kitchen steps as he yanked the chainsaw to life.

There was Hadley, key in the ignition, frantically trying to start his car.

“Tommy we need him alive! He has to tell us where your sister is! Don’t kill! Don’t kill!”

The young man jumped out of the car and tried to run, but her son was too close. Luda Mae kept yelling, hoping Thomas would hear her over that dreadful machine. He lifted it, swung it down, and Luda Mae turned away, just in case. She didn’t want see if he’d heard her just yet – the screams of the young sheriff were bad enough.

**************************************************

The hated meat ran. Thomas lifted the chainsaw and swung it down, howling when it chewed into the boot and the blood burst free. The meat screamed, fell, and then tried to crawl, fumbling for the weapon on the hip.

He hoisted the chainsaw and hacked at the groping hand, watching some of the fingers sheer off and fall away. Moving forward, he planted his boot on the meat’s leg. Turning off the chainsaw, he dropped it and plucked the meat hook from the strap of the leather apron.

With a grunt, he stabbed into the shoulder muscle and pushed the hook through. Gripping the handle, he hauled the meat up off its chest and around, ignoring its bleats and curses.

“Thomas Brown Hewitt, you look at me and listen, now!”

Raising his head, he looked at his mother, caught between the fear of her anger and the need to tend to the meat.

“Don’t kill him, not yet. You wait for your uncle, y’hear? This man can tell us where your sister is, so we can get her back. Do you understand?”

Thomas nodded once. He stopped trying to haul the meat away.

“Your uncle will be here any minute, my sweet boy. Just you wait – he’s gonna be so proud o’ you, same as me, for catchin’ that one.”

~ ~ ~

“Hold still, you dirty cocksucker! Now, Tommy – right there.”

Setting the long nail between the hand bones, Thomas hefted the hammer and drove it into the wooden post, pinning the hand. They fixed the other hand to another post. Standing and shaking, one foot half-chewed at the boot heel by the chainsaw, the meat screamed and cursed.

His uncle turned and grinned at him. “That’ll do. Wish you hadn’t poked holes that shirt, boy. I coulda used a spare set. Still, with the hook in there, we got us a handy convincin’ tool. Now you gotta stay outta my way, Tommy, y’hear? You can have him if he don’t tell us where your sister is. Go wait by the work table. Me and the Hadley boy got some jawin’ to do.”

Thomas moved away, stifling a growl at the meat. He stood next to the work table and watched, knowing his uncle would make the thing suffer.

The meat lifted its head, the face wet. “You’re mad, Hewitt. People know I’m here – a doctor. He knows ‘bout your family, and … him… Lemme go and I’ll talk to ‘em –”

“Name’s Hoyt, boy – Sheriff Hoyt. You’re gonna learn that, just like you’re gonna tell us where you took my niece.”

“She ain’t your niece.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to you, is she? We love that little gal, she loves us and we aim to get her back. Now do you understand the fix you’re in?”

Thomas leaned in, his hands flexing. He watched his uncle draw something metal from his pocket. With a click, a long and thin blade popped out.

“That heel is messed up and you’re also bleedin’ from that fuckin’ fat hook hangin’ outta your shoulder. That pose is gonna get mighty exhaustin’, too. Do y’know what’ll happen if you struggle and lose your balance? Those nails would rip right outta your hands the hard way. If that happens, my nephew here is just gonna nail you up again by somethin’ a bit more solid.”

“I cain’t tell you where she is. I won’t. You’re a crazy fuck. You tore Dodie Connor up…” The head turned, seeing the hanging meat on other hooks around them. “Oh God … this is beyond … insane…”

“Son, you’re gonna be ‘beyond the bounds o’ sanity’ in next to no time. I read that in a book my grandma left me. Do ya know what else it said? It said, ‘You’re fucked, asshole.’”

“You go to Hell…”

“Aight, here we go, then. Don’t get all bowed up and fall now.” Then his uncle smiled. “It’s hot in here, Tommy. Let’s make our guest more comfortable. C’mere, boy, help me get this stuff off him.”

Moving forward warily, Thomas wasn’t sure what his uncle wanted him to do. He looked at him and waited.

“Hold him still, son. Don’t let him mess up our nice nail work.”

The meat stared at him, full of fear and disgust. It made him growl again. He moved behind it, gripped under the shoulders and held it up.

“That’s it, son, hold him still. I need to get these boots off, and then the rest.”

“Don’t do this, Hewitt…”

“Didn’t I say my name is Sheriff Hoyt? Always knew the Hadley boys were bright as goat shit.”

The knife handle was wedged in the mouth before his uncle knelt down and tore the boots off one by one. The bloody one made the meat scream and the body jerked in his grip. His uncle removed the heavy belt and weapon and got up to set it on the floor out of the way.

“Give me that,” his uncle ordered, yanking the knife handle back. The meat yelled and cursed as the blade tore the shirt into strips until it dropped away. “Hang on, I want that badge.”

“You’ll kill me no matter what I tell you…”

“Aw, now, see hear – I ain’t never said I was gonna kill you. My little bitch seized up and cold bitch gets borin’ quick, as it happens. Fuckin’ up your day is turnin’ my frown upside-down – gonna want it to last. The pants could fit me, Tommy.”

It was harder to hold the meat still as his uncle took off the pants. Finally, he was told he could let it go and move away.

“I ain’t even gonna see if your unders fit, but they still gotta go.” The blade sliced through the sides of the cloth, cutting into the skin. “Look at that thing tryin’ to crawl up inside. Think it might could be scared. You scared, Hadley?”

“Just stop … please…”

“Please, is it? Lemme tell you the situation you’re in, boy. That blonde skirt, Wincott, we know her as a granddaughter o’ old Samuel Mason. Seems she wants to be friends, like our granddaddies were. She told us where you both took Amarie, probly cuz she didn’t wanna end up where you are now. Here’s the deal: you tell me where you took our girl, and you tell the truth. If I catch a lie comin’ out your cocksuckin’ hole, you’re gonna be here keepin’ me from gettin’ bored for days – long as I can make it last, anyhow. In the end, I’m gonna start cuttin’ off parts you can survive without and addin’ ‘em to the soup pot. So – ready to play?”

Thomas flexed his fists. Most of the words he didn’t understand, but his uncle’s posture was eager, and the meat had gone pale and silent.

“I had a long day, boy – and I bet you’d rather keep me on your good side. Guess you need to think ‘bout it a bit.” Reaching up, he grabbed the metal hook near the point and jerked it. The meat screamed. “Still need to think ‘bout it some more?”

“No!”

“No, sir – I’m sure you meant, Deputy Hadley.”

“Dr. Wincott – she’s workin’ with you…”

“We charmed her with our sterlin’ Southern hospitality.”

“You’re lyin’, I saw her, she told me to come out here… She told me…”

“Oh, lordy, here come the tears and the wailin’. Yeah, you got betrayed. Women can be deceitful, y’know. Sorry to be the bearer o’ bad tidin’s. Now, we got chores to do, so if you don’t hurry the fuck up, I’m gonna have to come back later. Tommy can keep you comp’ny. He’s got somebody to skin and quarter, I’m sure. You’d have a great view from here.”

“The girl…”

“Yeah?”

“Brackenridge, the hospital … 1400 East Avenue at 15th Street in Austin… I swear…” “See there? That wasn’t so hard. You done good, boy.” His uncle slapped the abdomen and the meat twitched. “Now the room number, if you don’t mind.” “Ask that bitch Wincott. She’ll betray you, too… She’ll…” The meat began to sag, tearing where it was nailed. With a flinch, it cried out. “Okay, Tommy, it’s your turn. He’s all yours. Make me proud, son.” “No! You said … you wouldn’t kill me!”

“I said I wouldn’t. Also said if you didn’t tell us where that girl was, Tommy was gonna kill you.”

“I told you the truth!”

“Yeah, I guess you did. Ain’t that a fuckin’ bitch. Workin’ for ‘em quacks, huh? Tryin’ to drop us all in some cage?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t do nothin’ to your family… Please…”

“You stole my nephew’s wife, asshole. He wants to share how that makes him feel. Get to it, Tommy.”

As soon as his uncle moved aside, Thomas grabbed the chainsaw and moved forward. The meat began to scream again and one thrash to get away tore the nails through its hands. The thing fell as Thomas yanked the cord and gave life to the machine.

For a few moments, he watched it crawl backwards as he stepped up and leaned down. His growl erupted into a roar as he pushed down and swung the saw, once, twice, and again, the blade chewing roughly through the legs, sectioning them. He heard his uncle laughing and hollering encouragement as he cut.

He paused then and watched its face, and just before the eyes went unfocused, he shoved the blade into the thing’s guts. The blood sprayed him everywhere but he continued to push the blade up until it hit bones. Turning the machine off, he stood there, panting and dripping red.

Breaking the silence, his uncle chuckled. “Beautiful work, that is. Now once you got that squared away, let’s go get that little woman o’ yours, huh? You and me – it’ll be fun.”

~ ~ ~

Thomas clung to the door frame in the shadows under the deep front porch. Nearby on the swing, his mother sat with her hands crumpled into fists in her apron. They both watched his uncle as he spoke to the strange female.

She was blonde like his sister, but stood as poised and predatory as his uncle. He hadn’t been allowed to bring the machine. The hand still out of sight inside the house gripped a curved bloody meat hook. Once, she had looked up directly at him and he had growled and clung tighter to the house.

His uncle’s tone was wary, angry – but there was something strange about it, too. He didn’t speak to her as he had to the meat downstairs.

“So you’ve seen him. Her room number, now – don’t want me to get impatient.”

“Would he come out?”

“That’s ‘bout as far as you’re gonna see him, unless I tell him he can have you.” His uncle looked her up and down. “Be a damn shame, if you ask me.”

“Her room is 603, but I need to meet you there. If you want to get her home safely, you’re going to need my help.”

“When and where?”

“You have to be there tonight. I’ll meet you at the Emergency entrance. The best way to get Thomas in is to get him to play injured. With you as a sheriff and me playing doctor, it can work.”

“Aight, we’ll be there. Won’t be unarmed, mind – just in case you’re hopin’ to save your friends the bother o’ catchin’ us here.”

“I want you armed.” She turned and opened the trunk of the car she had come in. When she stepped away, his uncle peered in. “Those are for you – another good faith gift. I assume you found the baby supplies.”

His uncle whistled and pulled out a pair of red metal gas cans. “When this is over – if you don’t fuck up – you might could find us more friendly-like.”

The woman glanced up again and Thomas recoiled from her stare. “I hope so. I have to get back. I’ll be ready to meet you after eight o’clock. Good to see you again, Mrs. Hewitt!” she called out.

Setting the gas cans on the ground, his uncle closed her trunk. They all watched as she got in and drove away in a cloud of dust.

“Well, well.” Turning to face his family, his uncle grinned. “I got me an idea o’ how to do this, and first thing is, Momma, you’re stayin’ here.”

~ ~ ~

Thomas had been coaxed into the back of his uncle’s car. The machine was out of reach in the front. Once his mother stopped petting his head and singing to him, she moved and closed the door. He shifted so he could see it – yellow, black, gray, and dripping red – and tried to obey his uncle’s order to be still and quiet.

“Lemme see it, how you practiced,” his uncle asked, twisting in his seat to watch. “Remember when that fuckin’ biker knifed you in the back? Pretend, son.”

Thomas swallowed, bent forward and covered his mask with his hands. He let a moan bubble up, but it was the pain and confusion of losing his sister that made him cry out and hunch his shoulders.

“Gotta be close ‘nuff, I guess.” His uncle reached over and patted the red-smeared yellow body of the long-bladed machine. “Such a terrible accident, Tommy – what a shame. Don’t forget your part now. I’ll be carryin’ this damn thing ‘til we meet up with the Mason girl. Once we find your sister, don’t let a fuckin’ one o’ those idiots take her away again.” He shook his head, grinning as he faced forward and started the car. “Fuck, this is gonna be a good time.”

Thomas held himself tightly in the small space. The movement and noises were frightening. He stared out the smudged window until the world he knew was simply gone outside. Seeking comfort, he watched the blood drip from the dark blade, hearing its song over the crackle and skip of the black box hanging under the dash of his uncle’s car. Now and then, a clear voice came out of it, making him growl.

“Won’t be too long now, son – just imagine how happy that sweet little wife o’ yours is goin’ to be when she claps eyes on us again. Not to mention how shocked those other bastards are gonna be.” He chuckled. “Don’t nick Miss Mason, now – she’s a friend, I ‘spose, and even if she turns out to be a lyin’ whore, I still got uses for her – gotta use for every tasty bit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet to come are chapters 15, and 16 (and maybe an alternate ending. Shhh... LOL). Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


	14. Etched in Blood

**Dr. Ambrel:** Did you need something, Dr. Wincott?

 **Dr. Wincott:** No, I was just placing my latest report in the file.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Excellent. I wanted to go over it with Deputy Hadley – do you know where he is?

 **Dr. Wincott:** He said he was going home for a while to get a shower and some sleep before he has to go in to see his real boss – it seems we’ve been monopolizing the poor man to the point of exhaustion.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Yes, I suppose so. I wonder if you could take my file and the case files box into room 612? We need to be prepared to prove to our new team what we are up against with Thomas Hewitt.

 **Dr. Wincott:** Of course, it’s no trouble. I’ll take them now.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Thank you. I might be a little late; Dr. Sorrel wants a word with me.

 **Dr. Wincott:** I may get the team started then, just on the new report on Miss Trambler. We’ve asked them to meet so late as it is…

 **Dr. Ambrel:** That will be fine, although we could have the session tomorrow morning.

 **Dr. Wincott:** If you want Deputy Hadley there, he couldn’t meet in the morning.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Yes, I suppose that’s fine. I merely want to get started, so the lateness of the hour isn’t a problem for me. Don’t forget the files on your way out, please. Do you need help carrying the box?

 **Dr. Wincott:** I can manage.

 **Dr. Ambrel:** Dr. Wincott, wait a moment. I wanted to say I’ve been impressed with your dedication to this endeavor. You seem to want to study Thomas Hewitt as much as I do.

 **Dr. Wincott:** He is … fascinating. Thank you, Dr. Ambrel. I’ll get these down to the others.

**************************************************

 **Author’s Note:** In case you missed the new stuff mentioned in the notes, please pause on this chapter and re-read the end of chapter 13. I added a couple of new short scenes that build up the action for the next part. Without them, this chapter may be a little confusing. Thanks for your patience in waiting for this update. - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)

**************************************************

Amarie glared when Dr. Wincott walked in. She was better than the others, but not by much. She was carrying a big box, with some sort of rolled up cloth on top of it. She set the stuff down on the chair by the door and brought the rolled cloth to her on the bed.

“These are for you, please put them on quickly.”

“Clothes?” Amarie touched them cautiously. “Real clothes?”

“They are called maternity clothes. You should be dressed for this session with the others. There are shoes, too. I have to take the box down to my car and then I’ll be back up. If I don’t get here in time to take you myself, the nurse will come with an orderly to escort you. It’s just down the hall.”

Unrolling the clothes wrapped around a pair of socks and thin shoes, she looked up at the woman. “I’m scared o’ talkin’ to those people.”

“Just get dressed, please. I have to go. You’ll do fine, and I’ll be with you before the questions start.”

Bewildered, she watched the woman open the door, pick up her box, and disappear. The click of the lock sounded and left her in silence.

Carefully getting out of the bed and using the handrail for balance, Amarie hissed when her bare feet touched the cold floor. The clothes thrilled her. She’d been in their hateful split-open night dresses since she had first woken up in the room.

 _Been in these damn things any other time those awful people talk to me. Why lemme have clothes now?_ Yanking the thing off of her swollen body, she leaned against the bed to slip on the panties and loose soft pants. _Who cares why, I want ‘em._

The bra was a little hard to work, she’d rarely had one to wear before, but she wanted to put on any layers she could. The shirt was soft too, and huge, but it actually fit over her round heavy belly. She walked to the chair and sat to put on the socks. The little shoes didn’t have laces. Slipping them on, she stared at the bed across the room.

_Whoever comes, they’ll be angry if I’m not in it, but I don’t care. Hate it._

She heard footsteps coming and the squeak of the wheelchair they used when they took her out for what the nice doctor called ‘tests’. When the door opened, it was the doctor with the droopy smile. Her heart sank. Cruelty she could deal with. This was the one who kept grabbing at her.

“Let’s get you in the wheelchair, missy.”

“Don’t need help, I can do it myself.”

“We can’t risk you falling. Where did you get those clothes?”

“Dr. Wincott – she told me to get dressed, she brought ‘em. She’s comin’ right back to get me.”

He ignored her protests along with everything else and came up to grip her shoulders. When she tried to hit him, he grabbed her wrist and twisted it – just enough to make her gasp in pain. Using it to control her, his other hand squeezed and groped at her breasts again.

“You’re a pretty thing. Did you know that a pregnant girl can still please a man?”

Capturing her other wrist, he forced her hand to touch his nasty dick. It was already hard inside his pants, but it was laughably small.

“Lemme squeeze it,” she whispered.

With a grunt, he let that wrist go. Amarie stroked it once, squeezed it a little as if she wanted it, and then fisted her hand over it and hurt him as bad as she could.

He never shouted or cussed, but the backhand blow across her temple stunned her for a moment.

“Little bitch,” he hissed in her ear as he bent lower. “Shut up and be still or I’ll leave bruises. I can always say you refused my help and fell.” His hands were on her then and she froze. Fingers shoved roughly into the waistband of the pants and panties and stuffed up inside her. “There, see? Yeah, you’re just another country whore. We’re going to have some fun later tonight.”

Glaring up at him, not caring about the clothes or anything else, she forced herself to relax her lower body and gushed piss all over his hand, wrist, coat sleeve, and the chair. He shouted in disgust that time and hit her again, but she didn’t cry out. He had left the door ajar and someone else was coming. It was the nurse, but anyone was better than being alone with this one.

“What’s wrong, Dr. Butler? What is – oh you dirty thing, you don’t even care, do you? Just a filthy animal…”

“She didn’t tell me she needed the bathroom, she just messed herself.”

The nurse pinched Amarie’s earlobe hard with her fingernails, making her gasp. “We don’t have time to clean you up, so guess what, dirty girl? You get to go to the session as you are. Could you get her into the wheelchair, Doctor? I’ll get a blanket; we can fold it and lay it over her lap.”

Grinning at her, he grabbed her upper arms and made her move to avoid getting them wrenched. The nurse had draped the thick white blanket over the seat of the wheelchair moments before he dropped her onto it. As he covered her in the rest of the blanket, he groped her breasts again.

“I need to wash up,” the man told the old frowning skinny nurse.

“Feel free to wash your hands and take off your jacket, Doctor, but we have to get going. I’ll get her down the hall, come along as fast as you can.”

Amarie looked back and saw him staring at her as he rubbed his crotch. Shuddering, she slipped her arms out from under the blanket and gripped the armrests of the wheelchair until her knuckles went white.

The room she was taken to was full of couches and armchairs. A television on a dresser was turned off. The only person in there was the other doctor she hated, the cold older one.

“Why does she smell like an outhouse?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.

“She decided to have an accident rather than tell Dr. Butler she needed the bathroom. She got it on his sleeve, he’ll be here shortly,” the nurse replied.

The man didn’t even look at her after that. “Dr. Ambrel had best not be late. Where is Dr. Wincott, or that deputy?”

“They should be here by now.”

Amarie let her head droop. _How can I keep away from that awful man if he comes back later? I could tell Dr. Wincott, but I already did, and she didn’t seem too fussed ‘bout it…_ She tried to think of another way, but their casual abuse and neglect had drained her. _Is my nice doctor comin’ here? Maybe if I told him, he’d do somethin’?_ The wet clothes and blanket were awful, but at least it had made the man stop. _Made him pretty mad, too…_

He was leering at her as he came into the room, still in his jacket with the sleeve rolled up. He waved to her, wriggling his fingers. She shuddered again and tried to remember Tommy’s hands touching her instead.

Then the others arrived, including her nice doctor, but Wincott still hadn’t come. Sniffing, she felt fear rise to choke her where she sat. It was already dark. Once the questions were over, the leering man would come in and hurt her; he wanted to do things to her.

 _Could I … pray? My family always prays before meals…_ Letting go of the armrests, she laced her fingers over her lap. _Please, God, if you can hear me, please lemme get home with my baby. These are bad people. The nice doctor, he won’t let ‘em kill my baby, but they want to. Please help me, please … or that nasty man will hurt me more. I just want Tommy. He’s so good, please…_ Snuffling, trying to hold back tears, she began to tremble.

“Amarie, are you all right?” The nice heavy doctor came over and took the chair closest to her, away from the others. He didn’t try to touch her, but his voice was low and kind. It made her start to cry.

“There’s no need to be upset,” the one called Ambrel told her. He was the one who had sent people to take her away. “Dr. Wincott should be here, she was going to bring the files on Hewitt. Have you seen her, Dr. Graham?”

“No, I have not. Let’s begin, please, the files can wait. Nurse Brigham, will you close the door?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“What is that noise?” Ambrel asked. “Are they vacuuming or something? Nurse, could you please ask them to stop?”

Frowning, she nodded and opened the door wide just as the noise got closer and louder.

Amarie’s head jerked up in shock to see a familiar whirring blade chew and cut into the nurse’s skinny arm. Before the severed limb fell, the people in the room surged up in a panic with shouts, curses, and screams.

Tears flowed down her face at the sight of her brother – her husband – striding into the room with a howling roar. The chainsaw was swung into the oldest doctor, his body, opened wide, falling on top of Ambrel, who was staring in horror.

“Tommy!” she shouted in pure joy. The raging huge figure checked and turned to face her. “Look out!”

The doctor who wanted to hurt her that night was aiming a kick at Tommy’s knee. The man’s face was twisted with fear and hate – and then it was blown to bits.

Uncle Hoyt charged through the door. The report of the large handgun made her ears ring but she could still hear his whoop of triumph as he fired again, into the thigh of Ambrel.

Tommy was heading for her, and the nice doctor.

“No, wait, stop! Tommy, stop, not him! Get behind me, mister, please!” He wouldn’t move, intent on protecting her somehow. She grabbed his wrist and pulled with all of her remaining strength. “He won’t hurt me! I don’t want him to hurt you!”

“Amarie,” the doctor cried out, “this is – insane!” He stepped beside her but she got her feet on the floor and scooted the chair in front of him.

“Tommy, stop!” She cried harder when he obeyed. “Thank you… He’s kind to me, okay? He helped me. Listen to Uncle Hoyt, now.”

“Get over here, son, and finish off this screachin’ old bitch!”

Amarie could barely see through her tears as he lumbered away and shoved the blade into the chest of the nurse. _They came … for me. They came… Oh, Tommy…_

Uncle Hoyt kicked the corpse off of Ambrel and held his gun on him. “You must be the motherfucker who ordered the grab o’ my niece – I gotta present for you, Dr. Ambrel, from Deputy Hadley.” Reaching into the front pocket of his blood-spattered sheriff shirt, he pulled out a pair of fingers and plunked them onto the man’s chest. “He’ll be added to the pot – it’s a shame you won’t be joinin’ him there.”

“You … can’t do this… I wanted to help Hewitt, he needs … help…”

“Tommy? You want this cocksucker’s help? C’mere, son.” Uncle Hoyt moved away as Tommy turned. Heading to her side, her uncle ignored the doctor behind her and smiled down at her. “You okay, niece?”

“I’m fine now, Uncle Hoyt.”

“Please don’t do this,” her doctor begged, his hands upraised.

“Shut up. What you wanna keep this one alive for?”

“He was kind to me and he wouldn’t let ‘em kill my baby.”

“Aight, then. Makes things a bit more complicated … but if you want him alive, he lives.”

They looked back at Tommy who was staring down at Ambrel. Amarie shivered at the way the man stared up at him – like he was trying to study him even now.

“Thomas Hewitt,” Ambrel said, wincing as the blade moved closer to him, “I only wanted to help you – to help you all, if you want that.”

Tommy stared at him, cocking his head in confusion.

“You know what I taught you, son,” Uncle Hoyt called out to him.

Both men still alive screamed as Tommy lifted the chainsaw. He shoved it down, grunting when it hit and began to grind up meat and bone. Sprayed with blood, he let out a howling guttural cry. The body convulsed before it was simply carved into pieces by the whirring smoking blade.

The chainsaw was lifted again fast as Tommy turned toward the door, but Uncle Hoyt barked out orders for him to stop. Standing in the open doorway was Dr. Wincott, and she was smiling at Tommy – a proud smile, not too different from the one their uncle was wearing.

“Turn the damn thing off, Tommy. We gotta get your wife and baby home.”

“Dr. Wincott?” a quiet shaken voice asked in the abrupt silence. “Why?”

“I imagine Amarie could tell you why, Dr. Sorrel – they deserved what they got.” Turning away to face Uncle Hoyt, she added, “Take Amarie out and go – I called in the disturbance as a problem on the fourth floor, at the other end of the building. I’ll see you later when things quiet down.”

“Don’t hurt him, please?” Amarie asked, looking from her to Uncle Hoyt.

Her uncle holstered his gun and took the handles of her wheelchair. “Never you mind, honey – he’ll be fine. C’mon, Tommy, we gotta go. Now.”

Dr. Wincott approached him and kissed his cheek. “I’ll send them in the other direction – after I get a lot of blood on me. I played dead and got overlooked.”

Uncle Hoyt grunted and winked at her. “Impress me – convince the last man standin’ to keep his pie hole shut.”

“Yes sir, Sheriff.”

Grinning, he looked back at the red mass that had been Dr. Ambrel. “Would you look at that. Guess Tommy didn’t want your help? Nice try, Doc.”

As they wheeled her out, Amarie didn’t have a chance to look back. The elevator dinged and footsteps started running toward them.

“I’ll carry this, you carry her.” Their uncle took the chainsaw and headed for a closed door.

Amarie’s head spun when Tommy picked her up out of the wheelchair. The blanket came with her, so she grabbed at it and pulled it up against her belly. She was jarred as they went through the door and started rushing down a flight of stairs. Before they reached the bottom of all the flights down, she was afraid she might be sick. A door crashed open and then they were running through an empty lobby area. Bursting through more doors, she saw her uncle’s patrol car sitting at the curb and began to sob.

~ ~ ~

Tommy was propped up against the side of the backseat, holding her securely in his thick arms and between his legs, bent at the knees to cradle her. She wanted to kiss him but she was so tired that all she could do was hold the hands that were holding her.

In the front seat, their uncle hummed to himself as he drove them home – of course, he knew the way. Beside him, the bloody chainsaw was dripping red all over the seat and floor of the car.

“I love you all,” she murmured. “I’m so ready to be home.” Looking up, she smiled to see Tommy’s dark eyes gazing back down at her through the leather mask he wore. “I missed you so much…”

Rocked in his arms by the motion of the car, she fell asleep feeling safe – for the first time in far too long.

~ ~ ~

Amarie woke with a start, afraid she was back in the hospital. A bare ceiling with a spider web in one corner and a solitary lightbulb hanging down in the center was only a little reassuring.

“Good mornin’, child.”

She turned her head and started to cry the instant she saw Momma Hewitt. With her help, she sat up and her mother’s embrace took all the fear away.

“Where are the others?” she asked, and sniffed, wiping at tears.

“Downstairs. We wanted you to get some rest. You are so big! My baby is gonna be a momma.”

Amarie put her hand on her belly and smiled through her tears when her mother did the same. “I wanna learn, like you said.”

“You will.”

“Can Tommy come see me? I wanna see everybody.”

“We’ll need to get you downstairs to see your Uncle Monty, but the others can come up. Tommy needs to let you alone for a while, though.”

“But why?”

“He can visit, but you need to rest. Soon ‘nuff, it won’t be safe to carry on like you were before. You cain’t have him squashin’ you.”

“Oh… Yes, ma’am.”

~ ~ ~

After days of bedrest upstairs in her room, she was allowed to go downstairs with Uncle Hoyt helping her. She hugged Uncle Monty, giggling when her kiss on his cheek made the old man flush and mutter.

If he didn’t have work to do, Thomas would fetch up wherever she landed. He often sat on the floor at her feet in the kitchen or on the porch by the swing. She could sit for hours and talk with her mother while feeling his thick fingers around her ankle. She wasn’t allowed to go down to the basement yet.

One sunny morning on the porch swing, her mother went into the house to make tea for Wilma and Henrietta’s visit. Amarie looked forward to teaching Jedidiah more letters.

When Tommy came out, she smiled at him and watched him settle with an ungraceful thump at her feet. He still wore the mask of Frankie’s face. As he wrapped his fingers around her ankle and looked up at her, she swallowed hard at the naked hunger in his dark eyes.

“I know, I miss you, too – I miss bein’ … together.”

She glanced over at the house, listening carefully. His hand palmed her knee, pushing the thin cotton of her nightdress up her thigh. Amarie bit her lower lip before she scooted her butt forward on the swing and spread her legs. She couldn’t see her lower body around her belly.

“Put your fingers in, Tommy.”

Amarie had to bite the base of her thumb to stop herself from crying out, and when she told him to stop, he put the fingers in his mouth to clean them and her face went warm watching him watch her. He was hard, and let out a moan as she leaned down to touch his mask. He didn’t wince away from the touch.

“I gotta visit with ‘em when comp’ny gets here, but I can pretend to be tired and go lie down. If you carry me up to my room, we could try?”

Realizing he didn’t understand, she gave his worried look a comforting smile and closed her legs. She smoothed the dress back down over her knees as his fingers returned to wrap loosely around her ankle. He would leave when they arrived, but if he stayed in the shadows to watch her, she could ask for his help. If Uncle Hoyt was out patrolling, it might work.

~ ~ ~

She couldn’t help a soft giggle at the glazed look in his eyes when she opened his belt and pants and pulled out his hard cock. Her nightdress was bunched at what was left of her middle under the belly and her legs were still spread wide to avoid touching his face when he had licked and pleasured her.

The harsh yellow light overhead in her upstairs bedroom made him shy, but he hadn’t let her up to turn it off.

“Wait,” she told him, before he started to move over her. “Remember, Momma said we cain’t have you pressin’ down on my belly. Lemme get up on my knees.”

Amarie smiled when his hand came up under her arm to cover her breasts instead of her swollen stomach. The push of his cock inside her only hurt a little and then it started to feel as good as ever. She wanted it as much as he did now, almost more. The ache of wanting him in her was nearly constant. Yet Momma had asked them to be careful and she didn’t want to hurt the baby.

She looked down at his large hand and the thick forearm wrapped in leather as he grunted and groaned over her back.

“Tommy, Tommy, yes… Keep doin’ it…”

When he came, he let go of her but she stayed where she was. He lowered himself to his stomach, most of him off the foot of her little bed, and began to lick her as she had taught him. Once he finished, she knew he would lie on his back and then she would lick him to clean him up. Sometimes they would sleep, other times she would drift off and wake later to hear him working far below her.

She felt much better to be home, and wasn’t getting sick all the time like she had been in the hospital. Meals stayed down and all she wanted to do was play with Thomas.

For the rest of that week, she remained upstairs doing the darning and ironing. She’d begged for the chores, wanting to be helpful. She’d told Tommy to see her whenever he wanted, and any time he arrived, she would set aside her work and be with him. Sometimes she had nightmares and woke shaking or crying. If Tommy was there, she would curl into him and take comfort in his strength and the memory that he had gone to that awful place to get her back. She had learned that if he had a nightmare, she needed to be careful to wake him before she touched him.

They all kept reminding him that he’d put his baby inside her and she taught him how to touch her belly. There was no way to know how much he understood, but she kept at it.

On Sunday morning, she heard a car pull up to the house. Getting up carefully from his side, she went to the window and looked out. It wasn’t their uncle’s car. Fear gripped her and she nearly woke Tommy, but then she saw Dr. Wincott get out and call a greeting to Momma Hewitt.

Amarie couldn’t see her mother until she stepped down from the porch to go into the yard. She had her arms crossed and didn’t seem too pleased. Wincott looked odd because she wasn’t in a fancy skirt and jacket with her hair up. She wore a cotton sundress and sandals with her long blonde hair hanging past her shoulders like a country girl.

_Why’s that woman here? I ain’t goin’ back._

A dust cloud formed in the distance and Amarie took a deep breath and began to relax as her uncle’s patrol car came into view. He parked by the woman’s car and when he got out, she was already talking. Wincott appeared to have her usual confidence, but the arrogant superior air had slipped the moment he drove up. She might not be afraid of Momma, but anybody outside the family with sense was afraid of Sheriff Hoyt.

Amarie glanced at her sleeping brother a moment and then carefully slid the window open as quietly as she could. Their voices could be clearly heard below as the woman handed him something – a piece of paper, or maybe a photo.

“I brought you this, Sheriff. Call it a good faith gift.”

Uncle Hoyt whistled and nodded. Though his dour and suspicious expression didn’t change much, Amarie could tell he was pleased and impressed. It had to be a photo, the way he turned it in the sun a few times and didn’t squint to read anything.

“No loose ends, I like that. We’ll just keep this between us.” He pulled out his lighter and set the photo on fire. As it got too close to his fingers, he dropped it and stomped on it. “You drove all this way – gonna stay for dinner, maybe supper?” His smile was predatory. “I can show you ‘round the place first. The house … the basement… We might could give you a proper introduction to Tommy, even.”

“Can you show a lady a good time?”

“Show me a lady and we’ll see.” He stalked closer as he put his lighter away, and she didn’t retreat.

“I want to be a part of your family. I want to be safe here.”

“Only a few ways to manage that.”

Amarie could see her flinch when he grasped her wrists at her sides. The woman remained still. Knowing what her uncle wanted, Amarie gasped softly and bit her lower lip.

Tommy stirred and woke and she immediately turned and beckoned to him to come to her. As he approached, she faced the glass again and set her palms on the windowsill, bending forward a little.

He touched her waist, saw his uncle and the woman, and froze, stiff with worry and anger.

“It’s okay, he don’t need no help. He’s gonna get her, you’ll see.” Reaching behind, she started to tug her nightdress up. With a grunt, Tommy shoved it up and began to open his belt. Amarie smiled. “That’s it, that’s what we need. That’s what we all need…”

Below them in the yard, Wincott finally found her tongue. Her voice shook a little.

“You need things – I can bring them.”

“I need things you already brought, Wincott.” He let go of her wrists, reached under her dress, and stuffed fingers in places that made her grunt and wince. Uncle Hoyt chuckled at her gasp and how she clung to his shoulders.

“Cass,” she corrected him, all pretend calm gone. “Call me Cass Mason.”

The sheriff removed his hand and shoved her dress up around her waist before he picked her up and put her on the low hood of his patrol car.

Amarie smirked when she saw her mother turn around sharply and disappear. The screen door slapped shut with a whine of rusty hinges.

Tommy’s hand on her lower back moved, his arm wrapping around her under her heavy belly to protect her as he’d been taught. When he pushed inside her, she bit back her cry of pleasure. The feel of him, his strength, his hot breath on her neck where her hair had parted to hang over her chest – all of it made her feel wanted, treasured … and loved.

She watched her uncle move between the woman’s legs below, his hands busy at his hips. She wanted to see it, wanted Tommy to see it. She could hardly believe it when Wincott opened her legs for their uncle.

“Look, Tommy – Uncle Hoyt needs someone to play with, too. Maybe he likes her. She helped get me home, remember?”

Tommy lifted his head but she couldn’t be sure if he was watching or not as their uncle spoke again.

“You’re the kinda woman that always wants more. What more are you wantin’ from us?”

“There are other people I want dead.”

Chuckling again when she shifted to allow it, the sheriff stripped her panties off, smelled them, and pocketed them. His other hand was out of sight. One delicate hand with painted fingernails on his chest made him pause.

“This makes me family.”

“It sure as fuck does.”

“The other people?”

“Bring ‘em by for dinner, supper – whenever the fuck you like. Family can invite who they want.”

She moved her hand, took his hat to put it on her own head, and cried out when he thrust inside her.

Amarie stared down at them, feeling her body tighten around her brother’s cock as she began to come for him. Tommy pumped in deep and groaned, always careful of her belly. She finally couldn’t hold it back and cried out for him.

Their uncle’s head turned below and glanced up, his hips never pausing. He probably couldn’t see them, but the cat-like smile proved he knew they were there.

Tommy backed off and away when it was over. Amarie turned and they cleaned each other up on the bed. He needed that more than ever and she was sad that he had been so hurt and frightened when she was stolen away. Anything she could do to reassure him she was his was just as important to her.

Lying on her side, she smiled when he turned his head to watch her. She leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss, licking his lips until he opened to her for a real kiss. They stayed there until Amarie heard something move from the hood of the patrol car outside.

She glanced at the curtains wafting in the warm breeze. “Tommy, would you help me downstairs, please? They’ll go in and maybe talk with Momma and I wanna hear.” He had sat up but balked at her words. “We can stay outta the room if you want. Ain’t gotta deal with her yet. Please?”

Tommy didn’t bother to assist her in walking down the stairs like the others did; he just picked her up, cradled her in his arms, and carried her down. Heavy as she was with the baby, she felt like a feather he’d picked up to add to one of his pieces of art downstairs.

He set her on her feet at the open door to the kitchen. She half expected him to retreat to his basement, but he remained behind her as he glowered at the strange woman sitting at the kitchen table. Momma sat with her while Uncle Monty frowned in the corner in his wheelchair. Uncle Hoyt winked at her as he paced across the kitchen floor like a rooster. When Momma spoke, he finally settled, leaning one hip against the counter by the sink.

“How on earth is this gonna work?” Momma asked, a frown to match Old Monty’s on her usually kind face.

Her tone made Tommy shift and grunt. The movement caught Wincott’s eye and when she glanced over and saw them, Amarie grabbed her brother’s hand before it could knot into a shaking fist.

Uncle Hoyt’s sneering sing-song voice dripped with glee. “Eyes on us, now – don’t wanna make him skittish. My nephew don’t need any damn thing you got.”

Amarie pressed into Tommy more, giving the illusion of having control over him. She tried not to shiver with excitement at the thrill of holding him there. He obeyed her and relaxed his hand in her hold slowly, but continued to watch the woman.

Looking up at his face mostly hidden behind the mask, she saw the wary hate in his dark eyes for the stranger. Smiling, she tugged on the hand in hers and got him to wrap her in his thick arms. She couldn’t be sure if she saw a flash of jealousy in the fear on Wincott’s face, but when the doctor looked away, Amarie relaxed against her brother. For the first time in her life she felt … powerful.

**************************************************

“You can trust me, Luda Mae,” the woman answered her question at last. She gripped the base of the Mason jar full of water she’d been offered. One finger traced the word in the glass that she had turned her back on as a girl. “Our grandfathers were good friends.”

“That was then,” Charlie groused. “We do things our way here now, and if you’ve grown too fancy for that, it will be a problem.”

“I’ve heard the rumors. Deputy Hadley was convinced you killed Jim and Dodie Connor. I don’t care. Jim Connor was a fool and Dodie was an idiot. No one can come after you, for any of it, and I stole every file and record they had.”

“Everythin’?” Luda Mae watched her closely as she nodded.

“The box I had that I brought to them, the files Dr. Ambrel put together, everything the others had. Even Amarie’s hospital records they started.”

“She wants to bring people here?” Old Monty spoke up, typically talking around the woman. “What people?”

“The first one I want to fetch is a doctor, a proper one, who can help Amarie with delivering the baby. After he does that, we won’t need him anymore.”

“Oh I like this one, Momma,” her brother muttered, leering at his new toy. “How’d this doctor piss you off?”

“Most of them, and there aren’t that many, are people my patients have told me about. Dr. Gerhardt has never been caught, but I know he hurts children. He’s a brilliant obstetrician, but once a child turns about three or four, they aren’t safe around him anymore. He is rich and has powerful friends – no one else will ever stop him.”

Charlie moved behind the woman’s chair and rubbed her shoulders. Meant as a comfort perhaps, he turned it into both a threat and a lewd invitation. “What ‘bout Amarie’s foster parents? Can ya lay hold o’ ‘em?”

She looked up at him. “If you want that, I’ll find a way.”

“Want that and more. You gotta long drive tomorrow mornin’, though, so you best relax and eat with us.”

“Tomorrow?”

His hands on her shoulders squeezed harder and held her. “You can stay…?”

“I-I can…”

“Good.” He leaned forward, cupped a breast and squeezed. “That’ll be real nice. We need to get to know you better, after all.”

“Don’t start that in my kitchen. We gotta get dinner goin’ if anybody’s gonna eat it. Amarie,” she called, “come in and help me. Tommy, please bring up somethin’ fresh – for a stew.”

Her son nearly bolted for the metal basement door as her daughter came forward. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Amarie, I’m happy to see you at home and doing well,” the Mason woman announced.

“Thank you, Dr. Wincott.”

Luda Mae smiled at the tight expression on her girl’s face. Turning away, she went to get their grandmother’s old stew pot.

“Please call me Cass, Amarie.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why don’t you show her ‘round?” Luda Mae asked her brother. “Gonna be an hour before we get dinner on the table.”

“Not a bad idea, Momma. The stairs are this way…”

~ ~ ~

Stirring the pot after she sent Amarie to call for her uncles and their guest, Luda Mae watched her daughter return. The girl began to clean off and set the table in the dining room, using the good dishes from the hutch along that wall.

On one of her trips into the kitchen, she paused. “I keep expectin’ to hear her scream.”

“Maybe she cain’t by now.” Sipping the broth from the wooden spoon, she dipped it in for another bit and offered it to Amarie. “Might could be best that way.”

“That tastes so good – is it that awful young sheriff?”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Momma, can Tommy stay downstairs? She makes him so nervous. I can get his stew to him after.”

“We’ll see what your Uncle Charlie wants, but it’s fine with me, child. Don’t go down those stairs alone, carryin’ a bowl besides. Call him up to you, there’s a good girl.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will.”

~ ~ ~

Monty rolled up to the spot where the chair had been moved, and as the others sat at the dining table, Luda Mae watched their guest. She was a little mussed and the house tour likely hadn’t gotten farther than Charlie’s bed. If she knew her brother, the woman would be marched right back there until supper.

 _Cain’t imagine she likes it much, fancy thing like that, but she’s smart ‘nuff to keep her mouth shut – at least ‘bout his attentions._ She sat and looked at Charlie as he rose again to say grace.

“Let’s give thanks for the bounty that’s been given us. Bow your heads.”

Luda Mae watched them all do it before she followed along. As Charlie’s strong voice spoke out his favorite prayer, she tried to feel hope that this could all work out. _Lord, don’t let her lead us astray,_ she prayed. _Keep our growin’ family safe._

“I was hungry and He gave me meat. I was thirsty and He gave me drink. I was a stranger and He took me in. I needed clothes and He clothed me. I was sick and He looked after me. I was in prison and He came to visit me. Whatever we do, we do for these, our brothers and sisters, sons and daughters – our kin. Amen.”

Their guest was the last to say it, but she swallowed hard and chimed in with an amen of her own. Luda Mae nodded her approval. _Don’t need no godless woman clingin’ to this family._

Charlie took up the ladle and began to serve them.

“Was that a scripture from Matthew?” the woman asked.

“It was,” Charlie answered, smiling as he filled her bowl.

He had dressed again in his fancy sheriff outfit, presiding over the meal with a gun on his hip, but Luda Mae didn’t fuss. At least he had taken the hat off.

The woman looked down into her bowl and froze. Peeking over at it, Luda Mae saw the top of an ear floating in the broth over the other hunks of meat.

“Did you like Deputy Hadley much, ‘Cass Mason’?” Charlie asked her as he finished serving.

“No,” she whispered, staring into the bowl. “I didn’t.”

“Take a bite and tell me if you like him any better now.”

They all waited, watching her. She hesitated, growing paler by the moment. With fingers that shook slightly, she picked up her soup spoon. She glanced up at Charlie once and saw his hand resting neatly, casually, on the gun he wore. Then she dropped her gaze, lifted the full spoon, and ate. She nearly choked, but then got it down.

Her eyes were wet when she met his stare with her own. Luda Mae watched something change in her expression, and for some reason, it made her feel more at ease.

“It’s very good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He removed his hand from the gun and sat, picking up his spoon. “Finish up now, every bit.”

~ ~ ~

“Where is Tommy?”

Luda Mae frowned at the Mason woman on the couch with Charlie as she took the armchair near Monty. “My boy is nervous ‘round strangers. He’s far shyer than my brother.”

“And Amarie disappeared…”

“She went to take him some stew.”

Charlie laid his arm along the back of the couch and pulled her against him. His other hand settled on her knee over the floral print cotton dress. “We may not see her again ‘til supper – might not see Tommy at all.”

“So she is … safe with him?”

“‘Course she is. Now ‘bout bringin’ her foster parents for a visit… Let’s talk.”

“After, can I see the basement?”

“Not unless you screw up and convince me we cain’t trust you.”

“I can bring people, I can bring supplies. I’ve told a few friends I intend to fix up my house here, and the Mason farm, too. After what they believe happened to me, it was easy to convince everyone I needed time away from Austin. There won’t be any questions and no one will come around.”

Luda Mae glanced at the doorway before she asked the question that had been on her mind all through dinner. “Charlie said you killed that last doctor. How’d you do it?”

“I … I talked him into crossing through the bodies to leave the room to get help. I promised I’d turn myself in. Then I tripped him. He fell … into … Dr. Ambrel. I used a lamp and crushed in his skull. The lamp is buried at my family’s farm. No trace.”

“Stop worryin’, Momma,” Charlie chided her. “We can get this done – startin’ with the foster parents. Odds are they don’t miss that little gal more’n they miss the check they got for takin’ care o’ her. Easy money can make a body keep lookin’.”

Luda Mae tried to relax. _This Mason woman is gonna end up guilty as anybody before long – Charlie’ll see to that. With the foster parents gone, maybe my daughter really could be safe … if the birth goes easy. Mason can bring a doctor for that? My, my, we need that to go easy._

“Now ‘bout Tommy,” Charlie announced, looking grim. “He can be a challenge, but you let us handle that. He’s gotta hair trigger. Do you understand?”

Mason nodded. “Maybe I could help with him – after he learns to trust me?”

“He don’t need no help o’ your stripe, Amarie’s got him goin’ along just fine. If he sees I want you here, that’s the best start. So stick close … Cass.” Charlie’s hand moved to slip between her thighs, bunching the dress a little.

Monty was watching them with a gleam in his eye, probably hoping Charlie would forget he was there.

Luda Mae sighed. “I got things to do yet before I start on supper.” She rose slowly and stared down at the fancy woman caught in her brother’s trap. “If you two are plannin’ to get more acquainted, go on upstairs, please. This is a decent godly home – or it should be.”

Charlie chuckled and got up, reaching a hand down to assist his catch. “Yes, Momma, we’re goin’. Sorry, Uncle Monty,” he added and gave the man a wink.

**************************************************

Thomas carved up the trunk of the fallen tree into thin sections, quick repetition making the job a short one. The skin prickled at the back of his neck in the sun as sweat poured from his body. The day had turned a little cooler after the wind storm, but he had been working for hours all over the farm carving up fallen trees and broken limbs. His uncle had told him he used to come here as a boy, but he didn’t remember the place.

He flinched when his uncle’s voice called out to the woman, warning her to be careful. Footsteps behind him made him turn fast as he brought the machine up. The woman stopped, staring at him.

“I won’t hurt you, Tommy – and you won’t hurt me…”

“See, what’d I tell you, son – that toy o’ yours works just fine for makin’ firewood,” his uncle said as he walked up beside him. Turning to her, he added, “He ain’t had much cause to use it on wood.”

“I see. Thank you for your help, Tommy.”

“You’re lucky that last monster didn’t come down in the middle o’ the kitchen.”

“I can’t keep the farm house up and the house in town; honestly, I’m not sure why I bought it – this place has more room.”

“Not much o’ a town and this farm is closer to ours. You could just move in at our place, though.”

“I need a neutral space to bring people to and your sister isn’t fond of me.”

“Truth be told, I’m not that fond o’ you myself – but you got your uses.”

“May I show Tommy the barn?”

“He’s seen it.”

“I want to show him something.”

“Go on, then. Come on, son – this is soundin’ like show and tell. Cut that thing off, now.”

Making the machine silent, he carried it with him and reluctantly followed them into the huge barn.

“I was here when I was a girl, up there in the hayloft, when I met you, Tommy. There were boys chasing you, two mean boys with stones. You tried to hide and I helped you. Do you remember?”

Thomas stared at her. The shade of the barn felt better, but he didn’t like being in it with her. He glanced up at the platform over their heads, but he didn’t understand what they wanted.

“He ain’t gonna talk.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Don’t rightly know – never heard a peep outta the boy that could be called a word.”

“He looked up there when I talked about the hayloft. He understands what we say.”

“Tommy understands a lot we say – don’t mean he’s gonna start answerin’ your questions. Told you not to try shrinkin’ his head. He don’t need any o’ that shit.”

Thomas froze and glared down at the woman before looking up at the platform again. It was full of loose hay and a few moldy old bales.

The woman’s voice spoke softly from a few feet away. “I was up there reading a book and you tripped over my feet and fell near me. Those boys heard something and they started to come up the ladder. I hid you in the hay and showed myself so they would think it was just me. The first one, that was Hadley’s older brother – pushed me down and … hurt me. He left me there for his friend to take a turn and waited below. He discovered you and you attacked him – you got him away from me. Do you remember, Tommy? You grabbed the pitchfork…”

He winced – the screams had been so loud. The rusted tines had pierced the boy’s back. He had pushed to get it away from him and the boy had fallen, the pitchfork spinning down with the shrieking boy. Thomas turned slightly to look down at the woman and tilted his head in confusion.

“I was smaller then, we both were. Hadley ran away. I took that pitchfork and shoved it deeper. After you left, my grandfather helped me clean up and he buried that boy. When the sheriff came to check Hadley’s story, they thought he made it up. I told them how he hurt me, but the sheriff didn’t believe me, or didn’t care.”

“That woulda been Sheriff Royce,” his uncle said.

The woman nodded. “I waited. Then I went to the school one night when I knew Hadley was going there with his girlfriend and no one else would be there. I was leaving for Austin the next day to live with my cousin. I meant to burn the nurse’s office, where they would go and use the couch.”

“Fuck. So it was you who torched the damn school. They always blamed Tommy but couldn’t prove it.”

Thomas moved to the spot where the boy had fallen, writhing in the loose hay and dirt with his pants down and the pitchfork holes in his back gushing blood.

“He’s remembering it now…”

The woman moved to stand in front of him. He retreated a step and watched her.

“You try to touch that boy and you may draw back a stump.”

“Tommy?” she whispered. “You remember. I know you do. Thank you … for helping me. That boy deserved what you did – so did the others. Many people deserve what you can do to them. You like it, don’t you?”

Thomas stepped back again but then slowly nodded once.

“Don’t get so excited ‘bout that – he sees it different. What he likes is providin’ for his family, doin’ his part – like I taught him.”

His uncle left the barn, but the woman didn’t follow. He would have to pass her to leave, so he stayed rooted in place, staring at her.

“Tommy – Amarie, you love her. She gives you sex and you kill for her. Would you kill for me, if…?” She reached into her dress and showed him her flesh, the point of it sharpening in the cooler air of the barn. “You could meet me here, alone. I would let you.”

The words confused him. His sister wasn’t here. When she stepped closer, he retreated again and lifted the machine between them. One hand on the bar, his fingers groped to grasp the cord. As he raised the blade, she stopped.

Thomas flinched when his uncle’s voice spoke from the open barn doors.

“Keep pushin’ and make him pull that, he just might carve those off. I like you better with ‘em, so take this advice – don’t try shit that involves the boy’s dick. To be honest, it probly wouldn’t even be him that kills you for it. I bet you think my niece is a sweet little thing, huh? Best make your bed by spreadin’ your legs in mine and live long ‘nuff to get old.”

He watched, wary and afraid, as she covered up again and backed away. Turning his head, he looked at his uncle, hoping to be told what to do.

“Put it down and come on, son. She didn’t mean nothin’ – lost her head in the heat, most like. We’ll leave you to clean house but make sure you come on by for supper.” He grasped his pants and squeezed himself. “I cain’t wait.”

Thomas slipped past the woman and out behind his uncle. He winced at the hard slap to his back and went to the car.

“Get in, ain’t leavin’ you here to walk home, that sun’s brutal today.”

~ ~ ~

When they reached home, his sister and mother were sitting on the porch swing. Thomas went right to his sister and collapsed in a slump at her feet, setting the machine down beside him. With a chuckle, his uncle went into the house without a word, nodding to the women and tipping his hat.

Thomas held his breath and watched him disappear, half afraid he’d done something wrong in that barn. He remembered to breathe again when her hand touched his back, stroking gently.

“If you were nervous today, Tommy, don’t you fret – Uncle Hoyt won’t let her hurt us. I won’t let her hurt you, for all o’ that.”

The clink of a metal lighter sounded and he looked up when the hand left his back. His sister was cuddling up as their mother lit a cigarette and then held her close.

“You okay now?” his sister asked. She lifted one of her little bare feet and set it on his shoulder just to keep touching him.

Slumping lower in relief as he nodded once, he lifted his hand and curled his fingers around her ankle as their mother began to sing to soothe them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure you all figured this out already, but the photo Dr. Wincott, a.k.a. Cass Mason, brought to Hoyt was a picture of Dr. Sorrel’s corpse in the same waiting room the others were killed in. Amarie wanted him to be left alive, but Cass and Hoyt knew he had to die. Hoyt burned the photo so that his niece could think the doctor had been spared.
> 
> Sheriff Hoyt’s prayer is a similar paraphrase of the scripture from Matthew 25:35, 36 and 40 from the Bible that he uses in the film this story is based on: 35 ‘For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me’ and then he skips to 40 ‘The King will reply, Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ The Hewitts are portrayed in the remake films as being deeply religious – their skewed view of it, anyway. There’s a lot of that going around these days… Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


	15. Torn

**Dr. Wincott:** “They are old friends of my grandfather. Please… I’ll pay you, and … there’s a young boy – he may need medical attention. They haven’t seen a real doctor in over a year.”

 **Dr. Gerhardt:** “This pregnant girl – has she had any prenatal care?”

 **Dr. Wincott:** “Very little. Please, Doctor, you have to help. It isn’t that far.”

 **Dr. Gerhardt:** “Only because I like the idea of you owing me. You will make it worth my while, Cassandra. I had better get my due.”

 **Dr. Wincott:** “I promise you will.”

**************************************************

Trying to keep still as Tommy pushed inside her, Amarie shivered with pleasure. Her palms and knees were still burned sore from doing this like dogs so much. He never seemed to care if it hurt his knees.

“Careful,” she whispered, “the stairs are rough.”

Now and then he would forget and she had to keep reminding him. They weren’t supposed to do this on the staircase or in other public spots but Amarie had discovered that fretting about someone watching only made it hotter. As usual, Tommy didn’t care about that either and didn’t seem to understand why it distressed their proper Southern mother.

When the front screen door slammed, she flinched, worried it could be Momma coming in from her evening smoke on the porch. Then boots clomped across the house and she smirked under the curtain of her moving hair.

“Nice,” their uncle complimented as he came right up along the railing to watch. “Bit o’ a tough spot for that, ain’t it, honey?”

Amarie blushed despite her added excitement but she couldn’t look at him as he leered up at them. “The stair cradles the baby real nice. Oh, Tommy, careful, go easy…”

Awash in pleasure and warmed by a delicious feeling of being bad, she felt her legs start to tremble. Tommy was close. He drew back, breath huffing, and then pushed in harder. Pain erupted inside her the moment he came. It stole her breath and she clenched her teeth against a scream. When he snapped his hips back and shoved again, she couldn’t hold it back.

He was terrified and she began to cry more for frightening him than for herself. Gritting her teeth when he yanked back out of her, she managed not to scream again. His back hit the wall as he slumped down and moaned. In the moment that their uncle spoke, she cried harder, relieved he was there to help.

“She told you to go easy!” The sheriff didn’t hesitate, coming up to his nephew and gripping his shoulder hard to get his attention. “Sit right there ‘til I tell you to move.” Stepping past him, he laid his hand on her back. “Are you okay, honey – or do we got us a problem?”

Gasping, she whispered, “I … I think I’m okay. It never hurt before, Uncle Hoyt… I’m sorry…”

“Ain’t no need to be. Here, grab my hand and we’ll get you up to your bed.”

He lifted her weight and steadied her on shaking legs easily – he was far stronger than he looked. As he supported her to climb the stairs, her bunched dress fell to cover her again.

“Tommy didn’t mean it.”

“He never does – but he don’t listen so good, neither, sometimes.” Calling behind him, he ordered, “Get your ass up here, son. Put that thing away and come on up – gonna need help.”

Amarie winced but managed to walk with his assistance. He helped her settle onto her back on the bed in her dim room and smoothed the dress back down to her knees with a few tugs on the hem. Reaching over to the nightstand, he clicked on the small pale pink lamp he’d found for her in the basement.

“C’mere,” he told Tommy. “Sit on the bed and keep your sister comp’ny. I’ll fetch Momma for you. Now you leave her be for a while, y’hear? Ain’t boxed your ears in quite a bit but that don’t mean I won’t.”

Amarie reached for her brother’s hand the moment he sat down next to her. As she laced their fingers together, his were trembling. Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks as she felt the pain slowly begin to fade into a dull ache inside.

“Thank you, Uncle Hoyt,” she whispered.

“Hang on, honey, I’ll send Momma up to you. Don’t you let him paw at you none, just rest.”

“Yes, sir.” When his boots clomped rapidly down the stairs, she turned her head to give her brother a gentle smile. “It’ll be okay, Tommy, Momma will know what to do. You didn’t mean to, I know that, it’s gonna be fine, you’ll see.”

~ ~ ~

“Drink that tea now, every drop.”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s good.”

Uncle Hoyt chuckled from the doorway where he was leaning at a slumping slant with his arms crossed over his uniform shirt. “Hard to tell which o’ these young’ns is tha patient, ain’t it?”

Momma clicked her tongue. “My poor babies.” She took the empty tea cup when Amarie handed it to her.

Looking over at her brother, Amarie smiled. He had lain on his side and curled up against her as close as he could. One thick arm was pillowing his head as the mop of lengthening dark hair covered the mask on his face. His other hand was on her hip. The fingers still trembled.

“I’m better now,” she told him. “Try not to worry, okay?”

“Child,” her mother began, and then huffed out a breath. “You are too far along for all o’ that messin’ ‘bout. That baby needs to get born before y’all rough him up like that.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry. It’s been fine all along, though. It’s hard to tell him to stop and I … don’t want him to. It never hurt ‘til just then.”

“The boy got rough, Momma. Never did know his own strength.”

“Well, he don’t and that’s the thing – we gotta teach him better’n that.”

Amarie stifled a sigh but stared down at her brother. After a moment, she realized one of his dark brown eyes was staring up at her. He was worried and afraid and it broke her heart. Without calling attention to him, she gave him a sweet reassuring smile.

Momma rose from her seat on the other side of the bed from Tommy. “Maybe it’s time for that Cass Mason to bring us a doctor for our girl.” Leaning down, she kissed Amarie’s forehead and patted the hand her brother kept clamped to her hip. “You rest, y’hear? No more foolin’ ‘bout, Tommy, ‘til we know what’s what.”

“Already asked her. She said she’s workin’ on gettin’ one we can keep and she’ll be out herself in ‘bout a week.” When Momma wasn’t looking, their uncle winked at Amarie. “You sleep tight, honey. Holler if you need somethin’ or if he don’t behave.”

“He’ll be good, Uncle Hoyt. I love you both, so much…”

They both turned just outside the doorway and smiled in at her. Her mother answered, “We love you, child. Get some sleep.”

Uncle Hoyt paused as Momma turned away. They all waited for the door to her room to shut.

“Do we have to stop, sir? He won’t understand why. If I tell him he cain’t or it could hurt me, he might think that means never again, ever.”

His charmingly crafty smile flashed at her. “Let’s just let your mother think you’re behavin’ and then you can do what you want for a bit longer, but you gotta make him mind, now. He needs to go easy whether it’s hurtin’ or not. You’re probly gettin’ too far in for takin’ chances. Gonna have to quit soon ‘nuff – least ‘til after the birth and you heal up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We can help you with him. Gettin’ that doctor here, we could even say ‘not while he’s here’. There’s ways to get through that thick head – just gotta find the right one.”

Amarie smiled back at him. “Thank you, sir.”

He nodded. “Get some rest, now.”

The door was drawn nearly closed and she could hear him heading downstairs.

“Tommy?” she whispered, smiling again when she saw him watching her in the dim light of the little lamp. “Don’t be scared, please? Listen, here…” She took his wrist gently and moved his large hand from her hip to her swollen belly. “You can rub it; that feels good. I’m sorry you cain’t squeeze these for now,” she gingerly touched her swollen and aching breasts. “Rub the belly, that is nice. That’s our baby in there – that’s your baby. We gotta be careful, can you understand?”

There was no way to know if he did. Helping him learn how to rub her belly, she started to fall asleep.

“Stay with me, okay? Sleep here? I don’t wanna be alone.”

Amarie left the lamp on and slowly fell asleep listening to Tommy’s breathing and the soft vague sounds of her uncles talking downstairs. She’d never felt so safe in her life.

~ ~ ~

Boredom was a problem as she was asked to remain upstairs most of the time. After a few days of having meals brought to her, she fussed about not doing her part and got her mother to relent on a few things. If she did the few chores she could do while sitting and resting, like folding laundry, she could have Tommy carry her up and down the stairs for meals or to sit with the family.

One rare morning was spent drying dishes and darning socks while watching cartoons with Uncle Monty. He never said much, but she loved to hear him laugh when the animals on the television were acting silly. The day after that, Uncle Hoyt found a tall stool with a back like a regular chair so that she could sit at the kitchen counters to help with washing dishes or cooking. Her favorite chore was repairing Tommy’s clothes.

Taking her Uncle Hoyt’s advice, she stuck to having Tommy lie down when they wanted to play and she would climb on him. It would tire her out faster, she didn’t have his seemingly limitless strength, but it stopped him from getting carried away. To avoid letting their mother know about it at all, she would get him to play before everyone was awake and after they all went to sleep.

Looking down at him while they did it was fun; she liked seeing his eyes when it felt good for him. He would still lick her anytime she asked, sometimes for so long that she would feel too sensitive and had to ask him to stop. While he had chores, she would sit downstairs with one of the others.

Henrietta brought Jedidiah over often so that Amarie could read to him or teach him more letters. She had hoped to see Tommy interact with him but her brother didn’t seem to notice him at all. If the boy got in his way, he wouldn’t hurt him, which was a mercy. He just moved around him or absently pushed him out of his path. Once or twice when she read to the boy, she would notice Tommy settling somewhere to listen, as long as he was far from the child.

After the boy ran outside to play, Amarie found the women in the kitchen. She sat at the table with them, nodding when Wilma offered her tea, and waited for a lull in the talk.

“Did y’all teach Tommy not to be ‘round Jedidiah?”

Henrietta set her cup down and gave her one of her melting doe-eyed smiles. “We taught him not to hurt the boy. They don’t seem to fuss ‘bout each other much.”

“Don’t you fret,” Momma reassured her. “We can help him understand the new baby is his if you wanna see him with the child – just have to be careful, is all.”

~ ~ ~

Amarie padded down the hall before sunrise to use the bathroom after playing with her brother. She tried to keep washed, with their mother doing the laundry. Closing the door, she pulled her panties down to use the toilet and cursed under her breath at the messy stuff on the cotton. She wrinkled her nose at the unusual fishy smell – and then froze as she stared down at red spots dotting the white cloth. Stuffing her fingers inside, they were slicked and came out bloody. Fear chilled her.

 _Oh no… Is somethin’ wrong with the baby? It didn’t hurt, though. Why…?_ Footsteps heading her way nearly made her panic. It wasn’t the heavy tread of her brother. _If that’s Momma, I’m in trouble…_ She grabbed a bunch of toilet paper and wiped the weird goop off of the cotton and dropped it in the toilet. A second wad was stuffed between her legs as she pulled the red-spotted panties back up. The steps had quit. Listening at the door, she jumped when it was rapped on by a knuckle. _Uncle Hoyt, thank goodness. Momma knocks like a lady._

“Honey, that you in there? Up pretty early – are you feelin’ poorly?”

Hauling her nightgown down, she flushed the toilet and opened the door. “I’m … worried, Uncle Hoyt. There’s… I’m bleedin’ a bit. Dunno why, nothin’ bad happened?”

“He get rough?”

“No, sir, he’s been an angel. Momma’s been doin’ the washin’, she’ll know and she’ll be mad.”

“Now you gotta think ‘bout what’s important, here. Is frettin’ ‘bout that more’n whether or not the baby is okay? Or you?”

Amarie lowered her head to avoid his piercing gaze. “No, sir.”

“That’s right. Now that bein’ said, let’s see if we cain’t get fancy Miss Mason out here to tell us what’s what. No need to wake your momma just yet, is there?”

Amarie was startled into a smile by his saucy wink. “Not just yet, no. It’s just a few little spots.”

“Aight, then.”

~ ~ ~

In the dark, long after midnight, she felt her brother’s large hands slide her nightgown up. She was lying on her side with him at her back and she could feel him, hard and ready, against her thigh.

“Tommy, remember – we have to be careful, gentle,” she whispered.

She thought about trying to tell him no, but she didn’t have the heart to. The moment he had touched her and exposed her, she had started to get wet for him. He barely seemed to know how to be slow and easy, yet she always loved to feel him push himself inside her. That he wanted it and knew it was his, made her heart swell with love. He never needed words to show her that this was comfort for him, not just sex.

He buried his masked face in her curls and worked his hips to thrust, one hand on the side of her neck and the other, hand and wrist, covering her swollen breasts. It felt good – until it started to hurt.

Amarie bit her lip and hoped he could finish fast. She was done with explaining and not being understood, done with confusing and scaring him. By the time he came, she was gritting her teeth. The thrusts he often liked after that were difficult to bear at all and she bit back a cry. She couldn’t help trembling or the tensing of her muscles.

All at once, he stopped and went still. His breath huffed in her ear. She expected him to do it more, as he usually did, but then he pulled out. To her surprise, he began to turn away as if to leave the bed.

“Tommy, don’t … don’t go. Are you scared? I’m sorry.” Something in his hesitation made her start to cry. “I’m so sorry… You’re so sweet. Don’t go. Let me hold you.”

She rolled with a wince and he stopped and let her draw him in, shifting to allow it until his head was against her breasts. She held him gently, careful of his damaged face. To help her stop crying, she began to whisper the mockingbird song to him.

 _Somethin’s wrong… Please let it be okay._ She ducked her head to kiss his tangled hair. Not sure if she was giving comfort to the baby or the father, she whispered, “It’ll be okay, baby, you’ll see. Everything will be okay…”

They began to fall asleep with his head still in her arms, and by the time she drifted off, he had stopped trembling.

~ ~ ~

Tommy had moved before she woke but he was the first person she saw, crouched on his boots in the shadowy corner by the bed on the opposite side from the lamp light. He looked like a hulking fairytale troll hiding from the morning sun. The whimsical thought made her smile. She hoped he wasn’t in the corner over what had happened last night.

Sounds intruded from downstairs, and then she realized why her brother looked wary and afraid – Dr. Wincott’s voice was speaking to their mother in the hall.

Amarie got up carefully and went to the slightly open door to listen. She heard her brother move but didn’t look behind her. Soon enough, his rough shirt touched her elbow. Over her head, one of his big hands curled into a fist and thumped on the wall as he leaned on it.

Their mother’s voice floated up to them. “Let’s go in the kitchen and talk first. My boy is up there with her, and we don’t need to startle him.”

“I came out here to check on Amarie. Sheriff Hoyt said there was a problem?”

The kitchen door creaked when it swung open and was held there. “You wanna go on up and make him think you’re a threat to that girl, you go on ahead. I’m gonna have some tea. Amarie’ll be down soon ‘nuff.”

“Those stairs are rather steep –”

“Thomas carries her up and down ‘em – keepin’ that girl safe is his new hobby.”

“She would be safer if he hadn’t gotten her pregnant.”

“Perhaps so, but children are a gift gladly received here, Miss Mason.”

The kitchen door swung back with a light thump as it closed, and Amarie grinned. “That woman don’t know when she’s been told off, Momma does it so polite-like.”

Turning, she reached up and caressed her brother’s lightly furry stomach and heavy chest. For a moment, she let him hold her in thick arms before she made him let go. Stepping back, she tugged at the open shirt to straighten it across his shoulders and fastened the buttons up to his collar again.

“You don’t gotta be afraid o’ her, Tommy. Uncle Hoyt wants her, so don’t hurt her, y’hear? That don’t mean you have to be afraid. She cain’t do nothin’ bad to you, or any o’ us, and you know why?” Under the shirt, her fingers stroked over a nipple. She smiled as she watched his eyes close in pleasure. “It’s you that folks gotta worry ‘bout, you and Uncle Hoyt. If she scares you, just remember that – you make me feel safe all on your own. I’ll tell you a secret, though.”

When he looked down at her crooking finger, she smiled as he bent down to let her whisper in his ear. She moved the hair, his and the stuff that was a part of the mask, and let her fingertips caress his neck. His shiver pleased her.

“If you needed it, I’d protect you, too. I’d kill for you, Thomas Brown Hewitt, make no mistake. I want you to feel safe, cuz with me, you’ll be safe. You are mine, y’hear me?” The hair rubbed over her hand and cheek as he nodded. “We can get me new rings later, somebody likely comes along, but you’re mine and I’m as proud o’ you as I can be. That’s why I’m happy to be havin’ your baby, too.” She straightened up with him and sighed as she pulled her door open wide. “I guess the nightgown is good ‘nuff for this. Carry me down to the kitchen?”

**************************************************

Luda Mae set her teacup down properly but her genteel-for-guests voice had an edge to it. “Sit and wait, he’ll bring her in.”

“I could help.”

“He don’t need it.”

When her children came in, Amarie was walking unassisted and Thomas stayed wedged in the doorway, leaning on the kitchen door. He didn’t look quite as down in the ears as he usually did around Mason.

“Mornin’ Momma, Miss Mason,” Amarie said. She kissed Luda Mae’s cheek and then pulled out a chair to join them.

“Child, would you mind if Tommy went and got some work done? This is gonna be lady talk.”

“No, ma’am, that’s okay. Tommy, c’mere, please?”

Luda Mae didn’t miss how Mason watched him or the fact that asking him to come closer to them all was just Amarie proving to the woman that she had him in her pocket. He clasped hands with her over her chest while glaring down at Mason.

“You can go on and work downstairs, okay? Why not make a few little toys for our baby? Gonna need ‘em and ain’t got none.”

When he shuffled off, he gave Luda Mae a little half-hug as he passed her chair. She smiled and murmured softly to him, “That’s my good boy.”

The kitchen was quiet after the door swung shut until they heard the metal basement door open and slam closed in the hall. Mason was still staring at the door he had gone through. They were silent as the distant sound of the chainsaw started up below them.

“Tea?” she asked her daughter, giving her a quick wink.

“Yes, please, Momma.” Amarie’s smile was sweet, but mischief danced in her eyes.

Pushing up her glasses with a smirk, Luda Mae got another teacup and poured for her daughter.

~ ~ ~

“You’re far enough into your third trimester now, too far in to engage in risky sexual behavior.”

Luda Mae sighed. “I thought I told you that stoppin’ was best?”

Her daughter stared at her fingers as they twisted a fold of her nightgown in her quickly disappearing lap. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Tommy don’t understand and it makes him feel close. I only get up on him now so he cain’t forget to be gentle.”

“At this point, you should stop. Entirely,” Mason told her. “There is a doctor I’m working on to bring out here, for the birth.”

“Is it one we can keep, ma’am?” Amarie asked with a gleam in her eye.

Mason’s smile almost looked like a Hewitt one. “He’s a gift, yes – but don’t tell him that until after he helps you through the birth.” The woman sipped her tea and nodded when Luda Mae offered to pour her more. “I’ve brought you some pills and wrote down the instructions. You need to take them, following those instructions, and don’t skip.”

Luda Mae frowned. “What pills? What for?”

“An antibiotic called Clindamycin, first made in 1967, and proving to be very safe for a pregnancy. Judging by what you’ve told me, this is most likely a bacterial infection. It should clear up the spotting blood and fishy-smelling discharge. May I ask a personal question?”

“Um … sure – yes, ma’am.”

“How often does … well… Does Thomas bathe?”

Luda Mae and Amarie looked at each other. When they were quiet too long for Mason’s satisfaction, the woman sighed.

“That was easier when he was a boy,” Luda Mae replied, lifting her chin. “I’d offer to let you take a crack at pointin’ a hose at him now yourself, but it probly wouldn’t go so well for you.”

Amarie didn’t manage to hide her sassy smirk very well, but she wiped it off fast as she faced the woman. “Is it a big worry, ma’am? Do I have to tell him to stop?”

Mason looked grim. “Yes, Amarie, you do. It becomes dangerous for the baby when you’re too close and with the infection, you’re at risk for having the baby too early, or having an under-weight baby. Your family is not equipped to deal with these problems. Also, for after the birth when you feel well enough to have sex again, you should find a way to get him to bathe first – at least the parts that go inside you.”

~ ~ ~

Luda Mae sat on the porch swing and smoked between chores. She was spending less time at the store in order to be close by for Amarie, who was ready to pop soon. The sound of a car coming down the road turned into two cars and when she looked up, she saw Mason coming back from Austin with a strange vehicle following her.

Rising to her feet, she dropped the cigarette butt and crushed it under her shoe. Pocketing the lighter, she walked to the edge of the porch as the cars parked. Mason had pulled off to one side, giving the other car access to pull up closer on the circular drive that went around the house. Luda Mae smiled. When her brother got there, he would pull into his customary spot – and block the other car from backing up. She would have to move Uncle Monty’s old tow truck between the back sheds to really fence it in, just in case.

Cass Mason waited outside her car while an older man in a white doctor’s coat climbed out of his fancy gray town car and grabbed a black leather bag from the backseat. Luda Mae moved to the porch stairs as they approached.

“Luda Mae Hewitt, this is Dr. Gerhardt.”

It had gotten easier to shake their hands as time and necessity marched on. “So pleased you could come and help us, Doctor,” she told him. “Welcome to our home. My girl is upstairs in her room; we followed Dr. Wincott’s suggestion and had her stay in bed as much as she can.”

“Where is the father? You said he was here,” he asked Mason.

Luda Mae nodded. “He’s out workin’, he’ll be in by dark. He’s the local sheriff,” she added proudly. The lies came easier than touching them.

“Hardly seems to be enough people left out here for that.”

“We do what we have to. Remainin’ in our family home is very important to us. Won’t you please come in?”

As they went through the house and up the stairs with Mason leading the way, Luda Mae saw the lens in the basement door move. Staring at it, she held her hand up, palm out, to tell the real father to stay hidden – for now.

She didn’t worry about Amarie, the girl knew what had to be said and done and she was as eager to play the game as Charlie. Her show of relief to have a doctor there could have been genuine, of course – but the girl was doing her best to hide her fears.

After the initial introductions and discussions of the girl’s general health, Dr. Gerhardt looked around the largely bare room with a thinly disguised air of distaste. “This may be the cleanest place for the birth,” he announced with a sniff.

Luda Mae smiled and held her tongue; there would be plenty of time to teach him better manners later.

~ ~ ~

“I don’t mind taking on nurse duties,” Cass Mason assured Dr. Gerhardt. “I’ve helped a midwife before. We have everything ready and her labor could begin anytime.”

_Dr. Fancy didn’t like that midwife crack – Miss Mason did, though. Baitin’ the hook – no wonder Charlie likes this one._

Smiling as she poured them all more tea in the dining room, Luda Mae felt relieved when she heard the patrol car pull up. Mason had moved the tow truck herself, and the doctor’s car was now conveniently blocked in.

The creaking slam of the old back kitchen door made their guest twitch in his chair before he rose to meet her brother once he arrived. His surprise at Charlie’s age didn’t carry with it the disapproval one might expect for the father of such a young girl’s baby, but she didn’t need to wonder why. Henrietta had already been told to keep Jedidiah at the trailer.

“Sheriff, good to meet you,” the doctor greeted him, as they shook hands. He had barely given Uncle Monty so much as a grunt and nod.

“Thanks for comin’ out, Doctor – we appreciate the assist.” Tossing a wink at Luda Mae, he excused himself. “I’ll be back shortly – wanna check on my girl.”

Out in the hall, his boots moved to the basement door instead. By the time she heard him clomping up the stairs to see Amarie, she stifled a sigh.

_My poor boy – shame he cain’t be there for the birth. I hope Charlie wasn’t too harsh with him on stayin’ put. I hope he will, though, if our girl starts up a caterwaul. My, my my…_

Luda Mae had started feeding everyone stew once Charlie had rejoined them and said grace. She had taken some to Amarie and Tommy before eating hers, just to avoid Mason trying to volunteer to do it. That woman had no business down in the basement.

She was far too old to make a fuss over it, but she couldn’t deny the feeling of smug satisfaction when the doctor, who had kept his nose upturned over the house and the family, had complimented her cooking.

After Charlie said he liked to hunt for the meat he provided for his family, she had needed to rise to fetch the tea pitcher from the sideboard to avoid chuckling. Her brother was in his element – reeling them in seemed to entertain him almost as much as teaching them a lesson.

~ ~ ~

They had gotten a guest room cleaned up for the doctor at the end of the upstairs hall – Uncle Monty’s old room before the wheelchair became necessary. He went in and shut the door as if relieved to part company with the family for the night.

Luda Mae and Mason left Amarie’s room together. Down the hall, Charlie watched the fancy woman as he leaned in his open doorway.

“Do you have an opinion about me with him?” she asked in an undertone.

“Mason –”

“Luda Mae, please call me Cass.”

Clicking her tongue at the woman, she shook her head no. “If you really wanna be safe here, there are harder ways to earn it than takin’ up with Charlie. I will say ‘hands off’ on my boy. It wouldn’t go good for you. Makin’ Charlie happy, well – Tommy would leave you be if you belong to his uncle. He’s all the father the boy’s ever known.”

“I won’t be compromising on ‘belong’.”

Luda Mae raised her chin. “Before he left for Korea, he always had women – some o’ ‘em even preferred him to a husband or two. I imagine he won’t have forgotten how he kept ‘em comin’ back for more. If you stop puttin’ on airs and quit puttin’ his back up, you might could find he’s a good man – better’n you thought. He sure won’t judge you for the things you do.”

Mason – Cass – didn’t answer. She turned to stare back at him and Charlie was smart enough to keep the smarmy stupid grin off of his face as she made up her mind. There was no guest room made up for her; she had a home to go to not so far away.

Glancing at the closed door the doctor had gone through, as if discretion mattered around a man they all planned to add to the soup pot, she finally moved and approached Charlie.

On the one hand, Luda Mae disapproved of the display when she let him embrace and kiss her in the hall, and her brother pulled the woman roughly against him – but on the other hand, she couldn’t help but feel happy for him.

She snorted when he winked at her over the woman’s shoulder, but she didn’t stay to watch as they retired to his room and shut the door. Heading for the top of the stairs, she was about to go see Thomas when he opened the sliding basement door and froze, staring up at her. Smiling to reassure him, she motioned to him to come up and led him back into Amarie’s room.

“I’m stayin’, just in case,” she told them, moving a wooden chair near the door she’d left open a crack. “I don’t think that doctor will come out tonight unless we fetch him for the baby comin’, but you’ll need to get back to the basement in a hurry if we gotta get him.”

“I wish he could be with me when…” Amarie whispered, as Tommy sat and then settled down to lie at her side. He began to rub her belly as he’d been taught.

“We cain’t allow it. If it makes you holler, we may not be able to control him. Let your uncle play father for now – it’s for the best.”

“I know, Momma. I just wish…”

“Me, too, child. Try to sleep now, you need your rest.”

~ ~ ~

When it started, she got Charlie and Cass first and Charlie handled herding Tommy out. Amarie had struggled to not show worry or distress until he left. For all of their sakes, Luda Mae hoped the labor and birth wouldn’t last too long or be too painful. Amarie had said she didn’t want pain medication, but the doctor had assured the family the option was available if she changed her mind.

Charlie had dressed in his old denim coveralls and boots and as he came back upstairs, he went to wake the doctor.

Luda Mae had washed and hung to dry every extra sheet and towel they had that week and gathered extra pillows. The doctor had brought a plastic sheet to spread over the bed. Since that had worried the girl, Luda Mae was sitting beside her to help her remain calm and focus on what she would need to do.

“Work on relaxing, deep breaths,” Cass told the girl. They had the big bowl ready for filling with warm water.

They had left the door open and Charlie was pacing in the hall. His tense concern was real in two ways – worry for their girl, and needing to be ready to catch Thomas if he tried to come barreling up the stairs.

“Should I be doin’ anythin’ besides breathin’? Those cramps’re startin’ to hurt.”

“We are going to wash you to make things as clean as possible, before the baby comes. Remember what I told you?” Cass asked. “Your water will break, there will be a blood-tinged discharge of mucous, and your cervix will need to be dilated enough for the baby to come out before you start to push.”

“Don’t push until we tell you,” the doctor added as he dug around in his leather bag. He kept pulling out items and laying them on a tray he had brought and put on top of the dresser.

Cass continued, ignoring the man’s brusque tone. “Your contractions should last thirty to ninety seconds and you’ll be dilated a little more than three inches before we begin the second phase of labor. The contractions will become more frequent and intense. You may start to feel pressure or pain in your lower back or abdomen when that happens. It’s normal, and you’ll be fine. You may find it easier to be up on your hands and feet when the time comes, in a squat – let gravity help you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Deep breaths, child,” Luda Mae reminded her and held her close. Watching Charlie pace, she frowned. Cass had told them they needed to wait until the doctor had checked over the baby and the mother and everything was fine. _If the pain becomes a problem…_ They were not a family that approved of drugs or such, but maybe for this, it could be the wiser choice. “You said you had medication to help with pain?” she asked the doctor. One glance at her daughter and she knew the girl understood her concerns.

“I do have that option, ma’am, and we can still fix her up if she wants that,” he answered, finally turning to face them.

Amarie looked up and stared as her uncle paced as if on guard. “I do want it, Momma.”

“Okay, my sweet girl. Don’t you fret – just breathe now, deep breaths.”

~ ~ ~

Luda Mae’s heart ached for her poor girl, but Cass insisted it was going well. Amarie had started to cry when Cass washed her clean after her water broke and what the woman called ‘the mucous plug’ was gone. The girl had to be still as she was examined here and there for checking her progress, but thankfully, that progress wasn’t being checked by the doctor.

“Honey,” Charlie called from the doorway, “If you need me in there, you lemme know. Momma’s got you, though. Uncle Monty says ‘good luck’, but you don’t need that, gonna be just fine.”

Amarie nodded and Luda Mae endured her hands nearly being crushed in the girl’s grip. The pain medicine seemed to help a lot, at least. Amarie had confessed to squirreling away one of Tommy’s two leather belts under the mattress and since no one protested, they were prepared to let her bite the leather if she needed to, to avoid crying out.

“There we are,” Cass announced to the doctor. “She’s dilated to 3.9 inches.”

Dr. Gerhardt nodded. “Get up on your hands and feet, if that’s the most comfortable for you. Help her, Dr. Wincott,” he added needlessly.

Hiding her frown from him, Cass helped and Luda Mae pitched in.

“There you go,” Luda Mae soothed her. “Rest on your pile o’ pillows when you need to.”

The doctor’s voice cut in, “Begin pushing, Amarie. I’m going to tell you when to push, when to rest, when to do your breathing we taught you. Try to follow the instructions as best as you can and tell me if anything changes for you in how you feel now.”

“Yes, sir.” Sweat was pouring from her in short order, but she was a solid little thing, and so brave.

Luda Mae smoothed the thin cotton nightgown around her shoulders with her free hand. “Remember, child, if pushin’ makes you feel like you’re gonna go to the bathroom, don’t you fuss ‘bout it, it’s normal.”

Cass nodded when the girl looked at her. “Concentrate on pushing the baby out, and listening to instructions, nothing else.”

A little over two hours of pushing, breathing, and resting later, the doctor spoke calmly, “The baby is crowning, Dr. Wincott. Now comes the big push, Amarie.”

Luda Mae felt that she was nearly suffering with her daughter. They were in this together in many ways, and since she hadn’t given birth to Thomas, it was a way for her to be a part of that too, more than ever.

Before long, Amarie was unable to be as quiet as she had managed up to that point, and without hesitation when she looked at it in fear, Luda Mae grabbed the leather belt and let her bite down on it. She wished she could make it all easier on the girl, but she did all that she could.

“The baby’s head is nearly out, keep it up, push hard,” the doctor instructed.

When Cass moved down to help him instead of assisting Amarie with focusing on what she had to do, Luda Mae hoped it could be over soon.

“There we go,” the doctor announced. “Clear the nose and mouth of amniotic fluid, and let’s get this done so she can rest.” The cord was clamped and cut when the baby’s body was pushed out.

That sweet first cry was like music, and Luda Mae’s heart thumped at the memory of the cries her poor little Thomas had made. Left in a dumpster behind the slaughterhouse like refuse, wrapped in brown butcher paper, his strident cries were what had made her lift the lid to find him. The decision to take him home and care for him had taken barely a heartbeat.

For a moment, she was worried until she got a good look at the baby’s face – there was no disease or deformity. Sending up a few prayers for that, she could breathe normally again.

Cass took over the job of wiping down with clean towels, and then wrapping the baby up in a warm blanket – one of the blankets she had left in the Mason hayloft with the other supplies for a newborn.

Luda Mae helped her daughter move to lie down on her back and when she was settled, Cass brought her the bundle.

“We should get her started on breast feeding. You still need to pass the placenta, but have a rest for now and meet your daughter.”

“A girl?” Amarie asked, exhausted and sounding awed.

“Yes – a beautiful and perfect little girl.”

“Why is she all pasty white-lookin’?” the girl asked as Cass showed her how to hold and feed the baby after Luda Mae freed the ties at the neck of her nightgown.

Dr. Gerhardt answered, “That is a covering to help protect her, and it will be washed off when she is bathed, but for now, it is thought to help shield from bacterial infections and moisturize the skin.”

The smile that spread over the girl’s face when the baby latched on to nurse from a breast made the gathered tears in Luda Mae’s eyes slip down her cheeks.

“Aw now, that’s a beauty, honey,” Charlie spoke from the doorway. “What you wanna name her, have you picked yet?”

Amarie was watching her baby suckle and her voice floated to them as if the girl was in a dream. “I wanted it to be somethin’ real pretty. Momma helped me. I wanna call her Clementine, Clementine Rose Hewitt.”

“Well, that is pretty – just right for our new little country girl. You did good, Amarie. I’m real proud.”

Amarie beamed a smile at them with tears running down her cheeks.

~ ~ ~

Cass moved away to speak quietly to the doctor, but Luda Mae could still hear her in the quiet room.

“She seems to be losing more blood than she maybe should be,” she told him. “Shouldn’t the placenta have evacuated by now?”

“Typically, in these situations, it can take as much as two hours, but the level of bleeding is a concern. The uterus should contract more and close off blood vessels after the placenta is delivered, but if the placenta is not detaching… Would you be ready to take the baby, if needed?” the doctor asked Luda Mae.

“Of course – is somethin’ wrong?”

“What is it?” Amarie asked.

“The bleeding hasn’t stopped and it is heavier than it should be. It is a concern. If the placenta has not detached from the wall of the uterus, I may have to detach it manually. If that is the case, we will need to sedate her. If we wait longer, she may end up needing a blood transfusion, and it is downright unethical to do so in these conditions or outside of a hospital at all.” He frowned at Cass. “This is why she should have been brought to me, Dr. Wincott.”

“We’re here,” she replied, a little sharply. “You have IVs and sodium lactate solution. Tell me how to help.”

They began doing and saying things none of them understood, and Cass took the baby and handed her to Luda Mae. She stayed where she was, sitting beside her daughter as she held her granddaughter.

“The bleeding is getting worse,” Cass said.

“We have to sedate her.” The doctor returned to his bag.

“Momma?”

Luda Mae clucked and hushed her, shifting the baby in one arm to pet her hair and then held her hand.

“What the hell’s the matter, Doc?” Charlie asked, an edge to his voice.

“In a moment please,” the doctor answered and Amarie shrank down when he came near.

“Is this … okay? Is it safe?” Luda Mae asked Cass, trusting her far more than some stranger, doctor or not.

“Amarie, you’ll be fine,” Cass said, answering all of them. “I know what he has to do and you’ll be fine, I promise.”

“I’ve done a manual removal and evacuation before, more than once. More deep breaths – let the sedative work; your family will be right here.”

Luda Mae held her frightened daughter’s gaze and her hand until the girl fell under the drug and seemed to fall asleep. The fingers went lax in her grip. As if sensing her upset, the baby began to cry.

“Give us room, please,” the doctor instructed, and Cass guided her to stand in front of the closet door.

“It’ll be okay,” Cass told her.

Charlie glared at her. “He said blood transfusion – now I know that’s dicey.”

“What the doctor is going to do should make that unnecessary. Even if she did need a blood transfusion, we would handle it. I already know who is a match, but we would need all of your help to make that happen.”

“Oh my Lord in Heaven,” Luda Mae whispered. “Tommy?”

Cass looked from her to Charlie. “I’m afraid so. We typed her in the hospital in Austin – his was in his files.”

“Motherfucker…” Charlie muttered. “That ain’t a picnic.”

“It shouldn’t be necessary at all. Once he gets the placenta out, the uterus will contract more and the bleeding should stop. Then an IV fluid bag can fix the blood loss problem.”

“I need you, Dr. Wincott. Who is Tommy?”

Cass moved to his side. “Tommy is Amarie’s brother, and if she did need a transfusion, he’s a match.”

“Where is he?”

Charlie cursed again. “He’s in the basement. He gets … upset … if our girl is in trouble.”

“Well, Sheriff, she may be.” Turning back to Cass, he asked, “Do you know how to do a transfusion if it comes to that? I have everything we would need.”

“I do, but it won’t be an issue, doctor. You’ve done this procedure before.”

Dr. Gerhardt turned to Amarie and Cass moved to assist him. He was muttering as they got her in position. “Damn backward-ass fool redneck idiots…”

Luda Mae gasped when the man put his hand right up Amarie. Unable to watch, she stared at the baby and hummed to her, working on getting the crying stopped, which gave her the luxury of not looking at what the medical people were doing.

Downstairs, they all heard the basement door slide open fast and strike hard on its track without being closed again.

 _He heard the baby. Oh, Lord … please get us through this._ She wanted to take her granddaughter out of there to her bedroom, but Charlie might need her to help with Thomas.

Cass spoke, forcing her tone to be calm, but Luda Mae could hear the fear in her voice. “Doctor, Tommy is coming. Please finish the procedure before he gets here. It’s … for the best.”

“If he cares about her, he will wait quietly like the rest of you.”

Cass glanced at the doorway and nodded grimly to Charlie. He stalked off down the stairs and Luda Mae moved to the window, as far as she could get from both the door and the bed.

“Hurry, doctor,” Luda Mae urged.

“I can’t rush this,” the doctor said, his voice sounding strained. “Dr. Wincott, give me that bag to put it in,” the doctor ordered. “Some of these country people want to bury them, for some damn Voodoo reason or other.”

Frowning, Luda Mae looked up to watch the rude man as he began to draw his arm back from inside of Amarie. Far too much blood came with it. Sickened, she looked out the window. Staring through her reflection at the inky night, she heard the heavy tread of two pairs of boots approaching and slowly closed her eyes.

Cass opened up a plastic bag and left it where the doctor could reach it before moving to the door. “Let the Sheriff and I handle Thomas.”

“Handle him?” the doctor asked, surprised.

Uncle Monty called out from a distance, “What’s goin’ on? Why’s he got that?”

Charlie’s voice barked out, “Outta the way, Uncle Monty – get! Gimme that, hand it over right the fuck now. Nice and easy… There. If you’re gonna go see her, you head up civil-like or I’ll box your ears, boy!” The stomping slowed, but didn’t stop. A lowing moan floated up to them.

Turning to look at the door, she flinched at the sight of the doctor staring at her with a bloody organ of some sort in his hand. Her daughter lay limp, legs open, with blood all over her and the bed.

“Mrs. Hewitt,” the doctor said, sounding angry and alarmed, “what on earth is wrong with this person?”

“He’s … misunderstood,” she muttered, using Charlie’s favorite answer. _He’ll come through that door wearin’ that mask…_ She glanced at Cass and saw her struggling to be calm.

“Doctor, move away from the patient for a moment, please, and bag the placenta,” Cass told him. “We need to make him think she’s just asleep.” She shifted back away from the door and put her back against a wall.

“Dr. Wincott, what is this?” He turned to look as Charlie blocked the door. “What … is that…?”

Charlie shoved at Tommy’s chest as those big fists curled into clubs. “You might wanna pipe down, Doc. Listen up, Tommy – Amarie’s sleepin’ cuz she’s tired, she just had a baby. See there? Momma has the baby so she can rest.”

“Wincott, what the fuck is that?” the doctor’s voice rose as he pointed.

Luda Mae drew in a deep breath, watching as her son looked to Amarie, silent and bleeding between the legs, still and limp. Then he saw the doctor’s bloody gloves and the thing that he had pulled out of her. She looked frantically for the chainsaw but Charlie must have taken it away and set it down.

The sound Tommy made was half-roar and half-strangled cry and he lurched forward, barely held back by his fear of hurting his uncle.

Charlie’s temper crested in curses. “That’s my nephew, you cocksuckin’ little prick! Mason, you can do this, too, ain’t that right? You can take care o’ our girl?”

“Yes, I can.” She moved to him, as if she thought she had a prayer of helping.

“Aight, that’s good ‘nuff for me.” In one motion, he dodged out of the way, pushing the woman behind him. “Let it rip, boy!”

“Get outta the way!” Luda Mae yelled to Cass. They pressed together between the closet door and the window, and the baby cried as her father rushed the man in white with bloody gloves.

Tommy roared, shoved the screaming man against the wall and gripped the shoulder and head in bare hands. The crack was awful as he nearly tore the head off.

The women flinched and turned to each other, their heads touching as they leaned over the screaming child – but the doctor was silent when he was dropped to the floor.

**************************************************

Blood drove him. The path was clear. She was hurt and the thing that had hurt her was meat.

Thomas stared down at it; his breathing was ragged as he realized it was dead and couldn’t hurt her again.

“Tommy, what the hell, son. Damn!”

He whirled to face his uncle, cringing at the look on his face, the tone of his voice. Afraid he had disobeyed, he slumped where he stood, his fists opening. The fingers twitched.

“Settle down, now. Good work, there. Listen up, boy. Amarie needs our help. She’s lost some blood havin’ that baby, and you can help us by watchin’ over her. She’s gonna be fine, but she needs help. Calm down, son.”

Thomas shifted, wanting to go to his sister. The strange cries in the room were frightening, but her silent stillness was worse.

“What do you need for our girl, Mason?” his uncle asked, his voice low and calm now.

He flinched when the woman spoke. “The doctor’s bag, carry it over to the bed and drag that chair over there, too. We need to hurry.”

“That ain’t a good idea. Urgent is one thing, rattlin’ him is ‘nother. You wanna keep all o’ ‘em parts I like playin’ with? Go easy, slow, and talk calm and gentle.” His uncle approached him. “Tommy, I’m gonna get this chair and bag, and you’re gonna go sit over there on the far side o’ the bed and help watch over your sister. Come on.”

Wanting to go to her, he obeyed. He stepped on the meat on the way, but didn’t care about it. As soon as he sat on the bed beside her face, he reached to stroke his sister’s hair.

The woman and his uncle began doing things on the other side of the bed. He watched her warily as she hung a bag of water from a chair.

“Ain’t she pretty, son?” his uncle asked. Staring down at his sister’s face, he snapped his head back up to watch the woman when she made a noise. Something went from the bag to his sister’s arm. Glaring at her, he balked when his uncle reached out and slapped him on the shoulder. “There we go. That’s medicine and it’ll make her better. Leave it alone ‘til Mason says different.”

“Amarie will be fine, Tommy,” the woman told him, “as long as you let me help her. I’m going to clean her up, now. I won’t hurt her.”

His uncle had said to watch his sister, but she wasn’t waking up or getting better. He twitched when he saw the woman wiping at her between the legs. Was she trying to make her feel good? He growled at her.

“Easy, son. Let him help with that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, he’s covered in dirt and God-knows-what.”

“Aight, let’s see how far you get.”

Reaching down, Thomas struck her hand away and ignored her when she got angry. He put his fingers inside his sister as gently as he could, as she had taught him.

“She needs to be sterile, stop,” the woman protested.

Pale slender fingers closed on his forearm and tugged. With a hiss, he yanked his arm free, grabbed the thin wrist and snapped it.

The woman shrieked and stumbled back, falling against his uncle, who held her still.

“Not so far, I see.” The low chuckle told him that his uncle wasn’t angry.

Ignoring the woman, he put his fingers back in, but it didn’t seem to help.

“Tommy,” his mother called softly, “why don’t you clean her up? Charlie, move the bowl closer for him.”

“Come on,” his uncle told the woman, “looks like we can handle this.” He moved a bowl of water and put a cloth in it. “You got him, Momma?”

“Yes, I think so. Cass, when is my girl gonna wake up?”

“It shouldn’t … be too long now,” she answered, muttering through gritted teeth.

“That’s just fine, Tommy, ain’t it? Get her on outta here, Charlie.”

“You heard her, Mason. Let’s get you fixed up downstairs.”

~ ~ ~

Thomas waited and watched. His mother had helped him, one-handed with a bundle in her other arm, to clean his sister and then cover her up to keep her warm. She had sat in the chair and neither of them messed with the bag hanging from it. He had wanted to toss it away, but she had told him no.

The thing in his mother’s arms started making noise again. Glancing up, he glared at it.

“T-Tommy? Momma?”

Thomas twitched when his arm was touched, but then he saw his sister looking back at him.

“Amarie, sweetheart, are you okay do you think?”

“I … I think so. Is it over? Did the doctor leave?”

“He ain’t gone too far, child. Tommy took care o’ that.”

“Oh.” She looked up at him and laced their fingers together. “Thank you, Tommy – for keeping me safe, and our baby, too. Momma?” She looked at their mother. “Is she okay?”

“Our sweet girl is just fine, but she may be hungry again. Here, go on and feed her up.”

Thomas leaned back as his sister released his arm to take the bundle. When it made the same piercing cries he had heard from the basement, he winced.

“She’s just hungry, Tommy. There, there, here you go,” she whispered to it. “Isn’t she beautiful? This is our baby – you helped me make her, so she’s ours … she’s yours, too – to keep safe and never hurt, okay?”

Leery, but leaning in again to see, he stared down at it as it sucked on a teat. It was a bit like the boy, but smaller – it looked like a doll.

“You don’t gotta be afraid,” their mother said. “She’s just tiny and she’ll need you to protect her.”

“We all need you to protect us. Tommy … we love you, and little Clementine Rose here is gonna love you, too.”

“You see she’s fine, my sweet boy. Why don’t you help clean up and take that down to the basement? That other bloody thing, too – then I’ll tidy the room for our girls. Go on, now. Don’t bother Cass Mason, neither – she belongs to your uncle, whether she knows it or not, yet.”

He reached out to stroke her hair and his sister kissed his fingers when he touched her lips. She smiled at him, and he began to slowly relax. They wanted him to work, to get the meat put away before it spoiled.

Rising, he leaned down and gripped a leg as he stepped around the corpse. Grunting a little, he hauled it away from the bed. The wall was speckled with blood, but his mother would clean it. In the center of the room, he bent again and hauled it up, laying the meat over one shoulder. Without looking back, he carried it downstairs.

The blonde woman stared at him from the open kitchen door as he passed, but he ignored her. He had work.

~ ~ ~

Thomas watched from the shadow of the porch as his uncle put the woman in her car. Seconds later, wincing in pain, she had rolled the window down. Their voices carried to him easily on the light warm breeze, but little of what they said made sense.

“You have two more IV bags and I’ve taught Luda Mae how to do that. Amarie needs rest and nutrition, and if you can avoid feeding her the doctor, or anyone else, that would be for the best. I’m going to get a cast for my wrist. Maybe after that, I could bring out some good food for the new mother, some salmon, eggs, whole grain breads, and more postnatal vitamins.”

“And when might that be? Tomorrow? Next week?”

“As soon as I can – hopefully by tomorrow. I got a good start on getting Tommy to trust me, at least. I need to reinforce that by continuing to help Amarie.”

“Ain’t no damn reason he should trust you.”

“Trust will likely take much longer – but Tommy does accept me.”

“He broke your wrist.”

“I went too far; he still accepts me. He knows I gave him his wife back.”

“His acceptin’ you don’t mean I should trust you. Tommy’s not the most careful observer in the family. We don’t really know you, Mason.”

“I just asked your family to murder someone for me, someone I brought here myself. How could I turn you in without having to explain that? After what we did at the hospital – not just you and Tommy but me as well – why can’t you trust me? Your ‘niece’ and her baby will live. I gave her the best chance she was going to get by bringing her a doctor and you know it – just like your nephew does.”

His uncle spit tobacco on the ground between his boots and then squinted down at her in the sun. “If she dies, next time you bring us another body to chop, you’ll get chopped with it.”

“Amarie will be fine – and I’ll take my chances.”

“You already are. I can see your potential as a lure, and I don’t care who you want dead, we’ll take all you got. For certain, I got other uses for you, too, and maybe the way to my heart is through my motherfuckin’ cock. Keep this in mind, though – loyalty to this family is proven in actions, in blood – not fancy words.”

The woman sighed. “I’ll see you tomorrow – consider that my first action. Someday you’re going to trust me, Sheriff Hoyt. You might even ask me to call you Charlie.”

“You work on that, Mason. Have a nice day, now.” He slapped the roof of the car and she drove away with her hastily bandaged wrist in her lap.

Thomas turned away and slipped back inside the house as his uncle went to his car. Upstairs, his mother was sitting in the armchair she had asked him to bring in. It would rock, and she was holding the bundle and rocking it.

Warm in the bed, his sister slept. She had talked with him that morning. The strange bag thing was still connected to her arm.

Moving to the corner, he leaned against the wall and slid down it to sit on the floor under the window. He closed his eyes when his mother’s voice began to sing, and the words reached into him like warmth.

“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word  
Momma’s gonna buy you a mockingbird  
If that mockingbird don’t sing  
Momma’s gonna buy you a golden ring  
If that golden ring turns brass,  
Momma’s gonna buy you a looking glass  
If that looking glass gets broke  
Momma’s gonna buy you a billy goat  
If that billy goat won’t pull,  
Momma’s gonna buy you a cart and bull  
If that cart and bull turn over,  
Momma’s gonna buy you a dog named Rover  
If that dog named Rover won’t bark,  
Momma’s gonna buy you a horse and cart  
If that horse and cart fall down,  
You’ll still be the sweetest little baby in town.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I try not to think about the fact that Amarie and Thomas are having sex while at least one of them probably hasn’t bathed in years. Amarie, how you contracted a bacterial infection of the vagina is really not a mystery, honey. What I researched for her to have was Bacterial Vaginosis (BV), the most common vaginal infection in women of childbearing age, caused by an imbalance in the bacteria that live in the vagina. No one knows for sure what causes the bacteria balance to change, but bad hygiene may be a contributing factor.
> 
> The next high-risk problem I threw at Amarie is called Placenta Accreta, a complication where the placenta gets too deeply embedded in the uterine wall to detach normally. It can cause severe bleeding and be life-threatening, possibly leading (in a hospital) to multiple blood transfusions and even a hysterectomy to control the bleeding. I’m taking poetic license that it was embedded just a little, and while not easy or fast to detach, it could be and a hysterectomy and transfusions were not needed. Research convinced me that attempting “direct blood transfusion” (person to person) under these conditions would not be plausible for a good outcome for Amarie, so I backed that off and went with “we caught it early, so IVs will do the trick”. I’m not a medical person or a mom, so this is pure research for the birth and the complications – please forgive any medical lapses on my part.
> 
> Props go out to DoodleGal626 on AO3 for the suggestion of the baby’s name. One more chapter to go. Thanks for reading! - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


	16. Epilogue: A New Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Decided to go with a bit of a time jump here, to wrap things up – mostly because I didn’t want to write about a baby, I wanted to write about a little girl. 
> 
> I want to give special honors here to the late great Tobe Hooper, who dreamed up Leatherface way back before Christmas in 1972. Apparently, he was in a busy Montgomery Ward department store standing next to a display of chainsaws when he thought, “I know a way I could get through this crowd really quickly.” He told Texas Monthly in 2004: “I went home, sat down, all the channels just tuned in, the zeitgeist blew through, and the whole damn story came to me in what seemed like about thirty seconds.” Mr. Tobe Hooper passed away on August 26, 2017 at age seventy-four. Thank you, sir, and rest in peace – you will be sorely missed. - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)

**Mr. Lancaster:** Let me bag all this up for you, Doctor, and Jimmy can carry it out to your car.

 **Dr. Wincott:** Thank you. I’ll carry the dress. May I keep the hanger?

 **Mr. Lancaster:** Of course. You still own that farm in Fuller?

 **Dr. Wincott:** Yes, that’s where I’m heading. I want to see how the orchard managed in that storm.

 **Mr. Lancaster:** Did you hear? Someone bought that old slaughterhouse, Lee Brothers Meats. They plan to open it up again after making the inspection folks happy.

 **Dr. Wincott:** Who bought it?

 **Mr. Lancaster:** A man named Blair, big cattle man, they say. Drought’s pretty much over. Things could start coming back up there – maybe you could sell the place if people want to buy again.

 **Dr. Wincott:** Oh, no, I love that old farm – I was born there. I’ll take that box of cigars and the gift basket of fancy teas, too.

 **Mr. Lancaster:** Certainly. Need anything else?

 **Dr. Wincott:** The teddy bear, the brown one – and that toy truck. Do you have any kitchen knives or cleavers?

**************************************************

 

Amarie sang to her daughter as she carried her on her hip, weaving through the growing collection of vehicles at the side of the house. The moment they came near Thomas, Clementine Rose laughed and squealed, arms out for her poppa.

“Let him finish up, now,” she admonished, smiling. Looking for a place to safely wait, she spotted the Texas plate on a crushed up jeep. “PRC-468,” she muttered. “Maybe it’s too soon to teach you your letters, but we gotta start sometime, huh?”

When Thomas set down the sledgehammer and turned toward them, the child laughed again.

“Poppa!”

Amarie smiled as Thomas held his hands out to take her. He had learned how to hold her up against his chest. Standing on tip-toes to kiss him, she told him, “Momma says we got comp’ny comin’ for supper. Can you play with Clementine Rose so I can help with the cookin’?”

He didn’t answer, she’d still never heard him speak a word, but the look in those dark brown eyes and a slight nod was all she needed to see.

“Tell your poppa how old you are, honey.”

Three tiny fingers were held up to him. “I’m three,” she announced with miniature pride, and giggled.

Amarie leaned in to kiss her dark gold curls and patted the big hands that held their child securely. “We got her clean for supper, Tommy, so please no playin’ in the dirt; it’s so hot out, she’d sweat herself into a muddy mess in no time. On the porch, maybe? That’s where she left her doll.”

He barely nodded again and followed her back to the house and up the front steps. She paused at the door and watched as he sat on the porch in front of the swing. He let the child down and kept her in sight as she fetched her doll.

Tommy had made the doll after the baby hadn’t survived the crash of the van that was now in the side yard. Momma Hewitt had sewn a little dress for it that matched Clementine Rose’s favorite blue dress covered with little flowers. Now and then, they had to fix the hair back on. Tommy had had to change out the original bones for chicken bones for the limbs, but otherwise, it was fairly tough. So far, she had managed not to damage the skull.

“Poppa, hold Sally.” Thomas took the doll and held it as carefully as they had taught him to hold her as an infant. Their child brushed gently at the glued dark hair and fussed over it. She immediately sat in her poppa’s lap and plucked the doll up, leaning against him as she straightened the little dress that matched hers. “She wants to see the comp’ny.”

Slumping to sit with arms loosely around her as she talked to him, one boot on the porch, the other in the grass, Thomas kept watch over her.

Smiling with tears in her eyes, Amarie left them to it and went through the house to the back, to join her mother in the kitchen.

“They playin’?” Momma Hewitt bent over to fetch the big stewpot from a cabinet.

“Yes, ma’am, breaks my heart to pieces how sweet they are together.”

“Your uncle brought up the meat, it’s good and thawed now. You wanna chop the vegetables or carve?”

Momma Hewitt and she had worked hard to get the little vegetable garden to produce, and they were both proud to use some of the roots for the stew – but she never missed the chance to carve the meat. They had saved this one for a special occasion and now their patience would finally pay off.

Setting the large hunk of meat on the thick cutting block, Amarie picked up the cleaver. As she brought it down again and again, she managed to remain calm as memories of what had once been done to her flashed in her mind.

 _Your sick blanket games cain’t hurt me now – or anybody else. Gonna finish this._ Meeting her mother’s smile, she asked, “When did Aunt Cass say she’d be comin’ out?”

“Don’t you worry, child, she knows when supper’ll be on the table.”

Moving to the stew pot, she lifted the carving block and giggled when her mother used fingers to sweep the hunks into the heating water. She stood close and leaned a cheek on her shoulder as her mother began to stir the mix of meat and sliced roots.

“I wish we had us some potatoes.”

Momma Hewitt clucked her tongue. “Maybe next season.” They both looked up when Uncle Monty hollered from the front of the house. “Go fetch your uncle some more tea.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After seeing to Uncle Monty, she had stopped by the front door to peek out through the screen and watch her family on the porch when she heard the cars. Uncle Hoyt’s patrol car, the light on the roof dark and still, followed Aunt Cass’s car close, almost bumper to bumper.

 _He’s as eager for this as me._ A flutter of nerves rippled through her stomach, but she quelled them fast. She knew what to do, how to look and act, and what to say. Amarie had been taught that you keep on your toes – no two people were alike, and sometimes one that seemed useless wouldn’t stay that way. The strong could crumble; the weak could rise up and kill you. _This one though, I know her very well. She’s a coward. Uncle Hoyt’s gonna be disappointed by that, but I just want it over. She’s the last one who knows I wasn’t born here…_

Aunt Cass and Uncle Hoyt shared a smile as they got out of the cars parked on the lane behind the tractor. Amarie took a deep breath and let it out slow as their clueless catch emerged from Aunt Cass’s car. As if pulled by a string, Amarie opened the screen door and went out onto the top step.

The woman was older and skinnier – but that familiar pinched look was there on the frowning face when she looked up and saw her former foster daughter. Staring up at her, she didn’t even notice the hulk of Thomas in front of the swing. In his lap, leaning against his strength as she held her doll, Clementine Rose studied the woman with the same rapt attention her poppa did. In moments like that, she favored him more than her momma.

At her uncle’s slight nod, Amarie walked down the steps. “Welcome to our home … Judith.”

~ ~ ~

“These people, girl – so backwoods,” Judith judged with a lazy drawl, her sneer sour, even though the sheer size of the grand old house had clearly amazed her.

Amarie had introduced her to the family – all but the abruptly absent Thomas – and then settled on the porch swing with her to wait for supper to be ready. Her foster mother had tried to lure Clementine Rose to sit on her lap, but the girl had retreated to her mother. Aunt Cass had managed to pick up the doll before it was noticed.

“They’re good to us. We love it here.”

“Such a frown on this one,” Judith admonished the child. “Not ladylike at all.”

“She takes after her poppa,” Amarie responded with a smile.

“Where is the father?”

“He’s workin’, I can take you to meet him after supper.”

“Why wouldn’t he be at supper with the family?”

Clementine Rose giggled. “Poppa’s shy.”

Amarie hushed her and kissed her hair. “I can see if he’s able to eat with us after we start, but waitin’ for him can make everybody wait too long.”

~ ~ ~

With everyone calling him Sheriff Hoyt like he preferred, her uncle said grace. He served them from the stew pot himself as Momma Hewitt handed him each bowl. They filled one for Thomas, too, at the empty chair at the end of the dining table.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Amarie asked, knowing the woman would never give a compliment to anyone. The noise she got as an answer was nearly rude, but she couldn’t care. Watching the wretch chew her missing husband was satisfaction enough. “I’ll go fetch Thomas.”

Barely opening the sliding basement door, she called down to him without going through it. As she returned, she remained on her feet out of the way of the door.

Sheriff Hoyt gave his grandniece a loving smile. “Clementine Rose, why don’t you fetch your doll – introduce Sally to our guest.”

“Yes, sir.”

Amarie moved to help her daughter out of the chair and watched her scamper off. When she returned, she went up to Judith and placed the doll right into her arms.

“Oh, well… What – what is that?”

Worried that she might break it, the child snatched it back and cuddled it, kissing the dried hair on the little skull as if to soothe it.

“Amarie, what is that ugly thing?”

“She’s not ugly,” the child protested, her tone sullen and growing angry.

The basement door crashed open in the hall. Helping her daughter back into her chair, Amarie smiled at the awful woman. “Her poppa made it for her. Wasn’t that sweet?”

Fixing her stare on Judith’s face, she drank in the fear and horror that drained it of color when the door opened and the bulk of her brother filled the space.

Amarie didn’t need to look at him. She watched with the others as the woman nearly fell trying to get up from the chair. The curved meat hook flashed in a big heavy hand and buried itself in the thin body as the shrieking began. It fouled in the bones of the shoulder as he yanked downward to drag her out of the chair and across the floor.

Standing behind her daughter’s chair, she held her little shoulders as the child shrieked, mimicking the woman, and clapped her hands around her hold on her doll.

With another sliding crash, the basement door slammed closed again, muffling the screams.

“Can I watch, please?”

Sheriff Hoyt cleared his throat and she quieted. “Finish your supper, now.”

Amarie was proud of him when Tommy returned on his own to get his supper. He didn’t sit, picking up the bowl and using his fingers to eat the stew. He drank the broth from the edge of the bowl, eating fast as usual.

Then his child slid off her chair and set Sally in it. Rushing to her poppa, she fussed to be picked up. With a nod from their uncle as the girl pushed the chair out, Thomas sat on it and lifted his daughter to his lap. The shiny smear of grease on her lips framed her proud smile as she leaned against him.

“Now you’re truly safe, Amarie,” Cass Mason spoke into the silence.

Nodding as she looked around the table at her family, Amarie brushed away tears. “Thank you Aunt Cass, Uncle Hoyt.”

“Finish up,” Uncle Hoyt told her. “Momma’s good cookin’ is a blessin’.”

Amarie ate, savoring the taste, as she watched her brother and their child. Their dark eyes were the same, glittering in a hidden and secretive way. She could barely contain her love for them – for every person at the table – her family.

~ ~ ~

After putting her beautiful child to bed and reading her a few poems from the _Mother Goose_ book that had been Momma Hewitt’s as a little girl, Amarie had gone down to the basement. Her foster mother was hanging on a hook through the back, gutted and cleaned, as her foster father had been before her.

They had chickens now that the drought was over, and Uncle Hoyt intended to get a few goats. When the slaughterhouse re-opened, they would discuss whether or not Thomas could be hired back on there, but the risk was possibly too steep. She wasn’t sure how they would fit in if the town changed again, but she was willing to leave that worry to the others. For now, things were mostly the same and few people came through the area – fewer ever left.

Gas was easier to come by and the electric was back on, sparing the worn old generator. Uncle Hoyt had strung a few extra bare bulbs in the basement over the worktable. Under their brighter glow, the diamonds on her finger flashed as she glanced down at them. The band had many of them and the engagement ring held a bigger stone than she’d had before. The family had gathered in the living room to watch Thomas slip them onto her finger.

 _My brother … my husband._ She approached from one side so that he could see her. He was making his art and she loved to watch him create the unique pieces. _Rib bones from my foster parents, a crow’s wings, barbed wire and nails, tacked to an oddly shaped piece o’ wood he found._ When she touched his shoulder, he didn’t flinch. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

The moment he put the board and items down on the worktable, she took his big hand in her little one. With a gentle tug, she led him off to bed.

He would lie over her now, but she still liked to sit on him. One of her favorites was a compromise – or so Uncle Hoyt called it. She got him to sit and freed his stiffening cock from his pants. Letting him lift and pull off her dress, she set her knees around his hips as he stripped her. Reaching for the thick cock, she shoved it inside her roughly, the way they both liked it.

Amarie moaned as his heavy arms circled around her body. The powerful thighs had no trouble moving to thrust up and she clung with arms around his neck, careful of his face under the mask. If she leaned back and moved her head, she could kiss him and he had learned to kiss back better than before.

Each strong shove up into her body felt like heaven, stretching her, filling her. Reaching down and back, she worked her fingers into her ass as she’d been taught and moaned again. Tommy knew how to do that too, how to fuck into it without injuring her, if she got it ready for him. Whenever they had to wait to get more pills, they could still do that, but they both liked it anyway and she wanted it tonight – she wanted everything.

“Should be safe this way for now, and I got Aunt Cass’s pills, but maybe someday we could make another baby? Would you like that, Tommy? If the family finds another doctor you can keep. Oooh, yes, harder. You feel so good. Move your hand? Use your fingers, help me get ready?”

She almost gave a little scream but bit it back when two of his fingers pushed fast into her ass, the thrusting cock in her pussy making it feel even better. Leaning in for a gentle kiss, she pulled back just enough to stare into his dark eyes as he watched hers.

His breathing was short and sharp, little grunts and groans pulled from his throat by the pleasure she gave him.

“Tommy, I love you,” she whispered. “You’re so strong and brave, such a good provider for the family. I love you more every day…”

The moment he came, still thrusting in her pussy, she got her fingers down there and caught a lot of it.

“Pull out and let me rub it on you. Get it on your fingers. Come on, like that … yeah…”

By the time they got it ready, he was able to do it again. He lifted and turned her, setting her on the bed. She got up on hands and knees and bit her lip as she felt his fingers around the head of his cock press against her slicked and loosened ass. She knew he liked it this way, how the animals did it. She liked it, too.

“Go easy, go ahead, push it in.” She gasped as he obeyed, loving the almost pain of it.

Being able to do this when Aunt Cass told her the other wasn’t safe made it okay to stop doing that. It left them with a way to still be close – to belong to each other. When he got it in and moved a hand under her between her legs, she groaned loudly as his fingers rubbed around the outside and pushed inside, as he’d been shown to do.

“Oh, Tommy, I love you so much…”

**************************************************

Luda Mae shook her head at her brother’s lewd wink as he and Cass headed upstairs after breakfast. Uncle Monty moved his wheelchair off to go watch his cartoon shows, which left her in the kitchen with Amarie and Clementine Rose.

Together, they taught the child the little jobs she could help with. She liked to sit on the counter by the sink and put the silverware away in the drawer near her as it was dried and handed to her.

After they cleaned up the dishes, Amarie started the washing, shooing her mother and daughter off to go relax.

Lighting a cigarette as she sat on the porch swing, she watched over her granddaughter. Clementine Rose had carried her plastic tea set out to the porch. Laying down a little blanket, she set it all up for herself, her doll Sally, and the newer teddy bear toy Cass had brought her. In the shade of the porch was a better place to play than out in the stagnant heat of August.

Cass had told her it was 1974 now, August third, but she barely paid attention. Like her ancestors before her, she knew the seasons as they changed and the time as the sun moved across the sky, even if most folks couldn’t feel time that way. Dates on a calendar hardly mattered and the clocks in the house held more value as heirlooms than anything else.

_Only August date that counts is the seventh, as that’s Tommy’s birthday. I wanna bake somethin’, see what I can put together. Won’t make no difference to him, but our sweet girls would love it._

Puffing out smoke, she studied her brother’s patrol car. It looked the same, though some of its parts had been traded out from Deputy Hadley’s car – which was parked, now in pieces, in one of the back sheds. Farther out and almost out of sight in the tall weeds was the growing collection of vehicles in the side yard.

_Some o’ those wretches were tougher than others, but they’re gone, now. Whatever happens with this Blair comin’ in to run the slaughterhouse, we’ll deal with it. Could be a good thing – a sign o’ better times to come._

The precious child’s voice sounded like a songbird babbling beside the porch swing. “Sally, give Teddy more tea.”

“Jedidiah’ll be here tomorrow, he’ll probly bring his toy truck. Maybe he’d play tea with you if you ask this time.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will.”

Pushing her glasses up, she smoked and watched the haze shimmer over the land.

“Teddy, move over for Poppa.”

Luda Mae turned her head and smiled, not surprised that her boy had managed to be so quiet. He’d probably come up from behind the house, rather than through it.

Tommy sat in the shade with folded legs, leaning his back against the house. He never picked up a tea cup or interacted with her games with toys, but he seemed to like to see and listen to her play. Once he showed himself though, the game never lasted long. The child would get distracted and give it up, moving to climb into his lap. In record time, she did just that. Turning to put her arm along the back of the porch swing, Luda Mae watched them.

Thick fingers touched the dark blonde hair and petted it down its length. The girl twisted in his lap to press her cheek against his stomach, one little hand over his heart. She nearly purred to be petted by her poppa. When she fussed for her doll, Tommy picked it up and gave it to her. She held it and cuddled in closer, sucking on her thumb. He held and petted her, leaning his head back against the house.

“Stop that thumb suckin’, child – you’re too big for that, now.” The little wet pop sound made her chuckle. “What do you say?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Letting out a gusty sigh, she asked, “Why won’t Poppa talk?”

Luda Mae met her son’s dark eyes and gave him a smile. “We don’t know why, honey, but we know he loves us. You know he loves you. He works hard to do things for us, provides for this family, and keeps us safe. We do what we can, we do our part. You do, too.”

“I’m too little,” she mumbled.

“Now you are, but you’ll grow. You help where you can. You help your poppa by showin’ you love him, showin’ you’re proud o’ him.”

The tiny thing cuddling into him looked up as he looked down. When their eyes met, Luda Mae had no doubts. Her love could heal him, maybe better than any of them could.

She patted his chest over his heart. “I love you, Poppa.” As he leaned his head down, she stretched up and gave him a little peck kiss.

Smiling as they both settled again, Luda Mae sang her Mockingbird song to them. The child was asleep, and maybe Thomas was too, by the time Charlie hollered for the boy. He twitched, but set his daughter on her bottom on the porch safely with her toys before he struggled up to his feet and left to answer his uncle.

The sun was overhead above the house when Amarie came out. Together, they gathered the toys and went in to start preparing to serve dinner. For the biggest meal of the day, they would have a roast, which Amarie had started in the oven after breakfast.

~ ~ ~

With dinner wrapped up and everything cleaned and put away, Luda Mae carried her granddaughter down to the basement.

“Let’s go see your momma and poppa,” she suggested, smiling at the giggle she got. They were both at the worktable and actually working. _Thank heavens – never know when the mood will take those two._ “This little angel wanted to see if she could help.” She stopped at the last step and her son came over immediately to help her over the slowly shrinking puddle on the floor.

“We got most o’ the carvin’ done,” Amarie announced. “You can wash up and dry some o’ the little bones if you want, honey.”

They worked for hours, barely noticing the passage of time, content to share each other’s company. When it came time for fixing supper, Amarie picked out a bundle from one of the ice chests.

“Tommy, would you carry this up to the kitchen?” He turned, still holding their daughter. “You can bring her up, too – we need to get supper started.”

He picked up the meat, wrapped in brown paper and twine, and carried it and the little girl to the stairs.

Luda Mae chuckled at the sight of the precious beautiful child looking over Tommy’s broad heavy shoulder at them as he started up. Glancing at Amarie, she said fondly, “She looks just like you.”

With pride shining in her face for both of them, Amarie replied, “But she has her poppa’s eyes.”

**************************************************

Lying in the little bed on his side behind his sister, he pushed fingers into her again and heard her moan.

“I want it too, Tommy – go ahead,” she whispered.

The words didn’t mean much, but the tone was soft and her hips moved to press into him, urging him on. Pushing inside, he moved to thrust, feeling the pleasure soothe away nightmares. It was as good as the blade, like she promised. He didn’t use the blade anymore.

When it was finished, he put it away and sat up. His sister was asleep again by the time he rose from the bed. A restless worry picked at him until he took up the machine and walked off to the stairs at the back that led up to the storm doors.

Pale light showed the fields and the gritty road in shifting shadows as clouds passed the full moon. The night was warm and the air felt thick. He walked down the road until he reached the familiar path in the woods and took it to cross over to the old slaughterhouse.

Stepping out of the trees, he stood still and stared at it. The dark structures and pens were there as they had always been, yet it was also different, changed, and his uncle had told him to stay away from it since the new ones came. He never went there during the day, but hadn’t been able to resist looking at it at night.

With the comforting weight of the machine in one hand, he moved, walking past the dumpster at the back. The old side gate was only latched with a chain and clip. Opening it one-handed, he entered the quiet structure and wandered through it. The blackness within didn’t matter – it hadn’t changed that much. He still knew every gate, hall, room, and pen.

When he came to the door that led to the office, he passed it by. Going down to the main floor where the metal tables waited in rows, he moved among them. Heading out through a side door, he rounded the pens there and returned to the trees and the path. They had cut the weeds, but little else looked any different around the pens.

Spotting something yellow in the cut grass, he bent down to pick up the tooth of a cow. Slipping it into a pocket, he turned away and headed back home.

~ ~ ~

Thomas Hewitt walked down the dusty road in the light of the full moon. The long-bladed machine swung, heavy, in his hand.

His family was out on the porch as he walked back up to the house. Without pausing, he found his sister with their sleepy daughter in her lap, and sat on the edge of the porch beside them. The wheelchair appeared, the screen door thumping closed behind the old man. He sat silently, not grumbling as usual. His mother, uncle, and the one they called Cass, his uncle’s woman, were sitting on the swing.

Turning to his uncle, the woman asked, “Do you think that old foreman he killed at the slaughterhouse could have been his father? Forcing or coercing a female worker wouldn’t surprise me at all.”

His mother asked, “Why does he go back there?”

Wood scraped as his uncle’s boot shifted over the boards. The chains of the swing creaked. “No way o’ knowin’, to either one – don’t really matter.”

“What if he needs somethin’ and cain’t tell us?”

“Don’t you worry, Momma, he’s just fine. A boy grows to a point where he can call himself a man, but once he’s a man, that’s all he needs – that and his family.”

Thomas paid no attention to what they said. Leaning down, he set the machine on the grass. As he sat up, his sister moved closer and leaned against him, resting her head on his chest. Slumping where he sat, he put one arm around her.

With a yawn, his daughter shifted to his lap. Reaching up, little fingers gently stroked the mask he wore. She shifted to cuddle in, her tiny hands grabbing up his shirt in bunches. She turned her head to stare down at the machine, as he was.

The night around them grew quiet, except for the bugs singing in the long grass and the distant woods. Lifting his other hand, he rested it against his daughter’s small back, so she wouldn’t fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time constraints are going to nix my original plan to write an alternate ending for this story. Also, that alternate ending would have explored a “what if Amarie had died during the birth” angle, and I’m just too happy with my happy ending. I think Leatherface deserves that. I’m not sure what that says about me, but that’s neither here nor there, LOL. For those who like Sheriff Hoyt getting his own girl, you’re welcome. I’m weird, so I was into the idea. If you don’t like Dr. Wincott, a.k.a. Cass Mason, then you aren’t alone – I’m not that wild about her, either, even if I like her mission to rid the world of pedophiles. Feel free to imagine her screwing up and getting fed to Thomas down the road, if you prefer that scenario. The doll Sally, with a real infant skull for a head, was borrowed from "Leatherface: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre III". The crushed jeep with the license plate number PRC-468 is from "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning". In that movie, Sheriff Hoyt clearly calls Thomas is nephew, and he is Momma Hewitt’s adopted son, so that proves Luda Mae and Charlie Hewitt are brother and sister. I’m not sure why so many locations online try to call her his mother. In the South (which I am, in Texas, no less) you can call a woman “Momma” who isn’t your mother. I have a friend I call Momma because she’s an awesome mother and it’s a term of endearment.
> 
> Completing this tale has been a long time in the making with huge gaps in updates as I began and finished other stories (I go where my muse leads me) but I do want to say a big special thank you to everyone who patiently waited for me to wrap this up and finish it. Beginning a “Leatherface gets the girl” story and allowing him to marry and keep her (with her willing, too, ha ha), has been a labor of slightly twisted love. Now Thomas Hewitt can live happily ever after in my head, because I reject that malarkey of his arm getting cut off in the next film. In my personal headcanon, that never happens. I do need to do a final typo run on the earlier chapters eventually, but otherwise, this story is finally finished. Thanks everyone for reading this little love tale of mine. - AnonGrimm (@MET_Fic)


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